


At Last I See

by confessa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Jon Snow actually coming to terms with who he is, Political Marriage, Slow Burn, Targaryen Restoration, Temporarily Unrequited Love, diverges from about season 6, please read the author's notes first, smart people not stupid people, this is definitely going to have a happy ending ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 08:44:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19331116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confessa/pseuds/confessa
Summary: “You know there is a simple solution to this entire dilemma.”“And what would that be, my lord?”“Marriage.”+++At the end of the Great War, Jon Snow agrees to marry Daenerys Targaryen to ensure peace for the realm. Journeying south to begin his life anew as her king consort, Jon yearns for the familiar comforts of home and a life that could never be.





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Second Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9693200) by [emmaliza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza). 



> Hello! Since the end of the train wreck that was season 8, I have been devouring Jonerys fics non-stop. I came across a particular one that stayed with me, which is credited as the inspiration for this work. The gist of that fic was this: Jon and Dany are married and she is pregnant with his child. Dany's love for Jon is unrequited, while Jon is hinted to be in love with Sansa, although he will never act on it due to his honour. Everyone is miserable. 
> 
> Yeah, sounds terrible for our couple, right? But it was written quite beautifully, and my heart broke for the Daenerys of that fic. So here I am with a fic that essentially works on the same premise, except this time, Daenerys is definitely going to get that happy ending that she deserves. Please go read the other fic and leave it lots of love (even if you don't ship the other couple). 
> 
> FAIR WARNING: there is some Jon/Sansa in this, but purely as a foil for Jon/Daenerys. I wasn't sure if I should tag it, because I did not want this fic to show up in the other couple's tag (I know I get annoyed when the opposite happens). 
> 
> This first chapter is largely a set-up of Jon's feelings going into the marriage. We'll get much more of Jon/Daenerys and Dany's POV as the fic progresses. 
> 
> As for the canon divergence, all you need to know is that season 7 and 8 never happened. Daenerys conquered the south before she came north. Jon never went south to seek her help. Jon's heritage was already revealed by that point. And uh...they kinda dislike each other. MUAHAHA ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND SLOW BURN, MY FAVOURITE TROPES. 
> 
> Lastly, this fic is not beta-read. Any mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out. I did as much research as I could but if you see any glaring errors about lore, do shout it out in the comments so I can make the corrections. 
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy the ride!

 

 

_This is the way you left me,_

_I’m not pretending,_

_No hope, no love, no glory,_

_No happy ending._

 

_This is the way that we love,_

_Like it’s forever,_

_Then live the rest of our life,_

_But not together._

 

 

_+++_

 

 

“You know there is a simple solution to this entire dilemma.”

“And what would that be, my lord?”

“Marriage.”

Jon had known what Tyrion’s answer would be. In fact, it was almost a relief that the topic had finally be broached between the two factions. Deep down, Jon had always known it would come to this. From the moment the Great War had ended, no, perhaps even before that, when the ravens had brought missives that the exiled Targaryen princess had arrived in Westeros with her massive Essosi armies and three dragons, a part of him had realised that there could be no other outcome. The reveal of his heritage had, for the briefest of moments, given him hope that his fate could change, before reality came crashing down once more.

Amongst the Northerners, it had been easy to dismiss the idea. It was ridiculous, no matter who Jon’s father, his _birth_ father, was, that he would marry the Dragon Queen. The North would sooner have Jon on the Iron Throne than support a marriage alliance with the daughter of the Mad King.

“I don’t care who your birth father was,” Lyanna Mormont had declared proudly in a room of Northern bannerman, after his parentage had been announced with proof from the Citadel displayed for all to see. “You are of Stark blood. You are of Stark history. The North remembers. _You are our king._ ”

Standing in that room, hearing the chants of his people, he could have convinced himself that he could remain King in the North. He could continue to live at Winterfell, his home, with his family by his side. There would be diplomatic and military consequences, but those, they could deal with.

Then the sea at Eastwatch had frozen over and the army of the dead had marched south. The lands had withered under the chill of winter and death. Daenerys Targaryen had answered his desperate plea for help and flown on the back of her three dragons to rescue his people. She had lost a dragon and stood in the flames, unburnt, an impossible goddess come to bring salvation. After all that, even his fickle lords and ladies could not deny her. Daughters were no longer mentioned, Sansa was treated as his sister once more. The North remembered, but that meant it needed to remember Daenerys’ own deeds as well. If they rose up in rebellion against a woman who was now being hailed across its lands as a saviour by the smallfolk, it would have been disastrous. Jon had seen how his soldiers looked at Daenerys. He could not blame them. Raining death to thousands of their enemies from above, standing amidst the burning wreckage of Winter Town, she was as mythical a creature as the tales from Essos had painted her to be. 

The North would not survive a civil war, not so soon after the Great War. Although the Night King and his army had been defeated, everything north of the Twins had essentially been decimated. The Reach was the primary source of food and firmly in Daenerys’ hand. The Essosi cities were loosely allied with her, and even if the North could have mustered the funds to pay for their food, they could not grow enough to feed two continents, not when the tendrils of winter had reached even the eastern shores.

Jon would have gladly bent the knee, but that was not enough. It would have never been enough. Daenerys knew that so long as Aegon Targaryen lived apart from the Iron Throne, his existence was a threat to her rule. Even if he had not been Aegon, even if he had remained nothing more than a Snow, he commanded a region that covered half of Westeros, with houses staunch in their support of his title. He could not trust his people to stay silent forever if he gave up their independence to woman whose house they despised. Daenerys knew all that.

Marriage was the only solution.

Logic could never win over the heart though. Jon peered to his right at Daenerys. She stood a few feet away, hands clasped serenely and her expression carefully blank. Dressed in her startling white furs, with her silver hair cascading down her back, she looked otherworldly in the snowy godswood. He gazed at her for a few moments more, but she refused to meet his eyes. It was clear that the Queen rather her Hand do the talking. 

“You know this is the only simplest, easiest, most straightforward solution,” Tyrion continued, drawing Jon’s attention back to him. “Westeros can hardly rise up under your name if you are already _on_ the Throne.”

Jon’s looked again to Daenerys, his expression pained, before turning to Davos. The Onion Knight gave him a kind, encouraging smile. It made Jon feel like the young man he was, rather than the King that he had been forced to become. They had not come unprepared. After the Great War had ended, they knew it would only be a matter of time before politics resumed. He had discussed their negotiation tactics thoroughly. Refuse, offer to bend the knee, assert Northern independence. Smokescreens to ensure that the North extracted every bit it could before their independence was taken away once more. Some lords had even suggested he bring up the Queen’s rumoured barrenness, although that had left too bitter a taste in Jon’s mouth for him to entertain. 

“There’s only room for one on that Throne,” Jon responded. “You ask me to be a King consort?”

“You would be granted significant power,” Tyrion’s words came easy, smooth, rehearsed. His short legs swung almost casually off the bench he sat on. “Greyworm as Lord Commander of the Queensguard will report to you, given your military prowess. You will still be de facto leader of the North through your sister, forgive me, _cousin_ , who will serve as Warden of the North. You will be much more than a mere consort, I assure you.”

Jon was taken aback at the generosity of the opening bid. Tyrion smiled knowingly at him. “We are not trying to cheat you here, Jon. We came here, at great cost, to save the people of the North. We want to protect Westeros, _all_ of Westeros. And securing your alliance is vital to that.”

“I’m surprised you are willing to put me in charge of your armies and the North.” Jon directed his words to Daenerys. Still, she did not look back at him. 

“The Queen trusts you,” Tyrion responded in her stead. “You have conducted yourself with utmost honour. She knows you will not betray her.”

_A hidden threat._

“Of course, putting His Grace in charge of the armies would reassure those who think Her Grace holds too much power with her dragons,” Davos interceded. “and the Northern lords would be kept happy if their king _remains_ their king.”

That prompted Daenerys to throw a quick glance at them. She looked impressed. She had always liked Davos.

“Ser Davos, astute as always,” Tyrion raised a hand as if he was toasting the man. “You can’t blame us for ensuring our other interests are served as well.”

There were more pressing concerns than just his position of power, however. “My people need food.”

“Of course. The Queen has secured enough grain from the Reach and Essos to help in the recovery efforts. I’m not going to lie, it won’t be easy. There will be many people that will still go hungry, but we will not let people starve. We will apportion more food to the North, given the destruction and the climate.”

“We are talking grain, livestock?” Davos asked.

“I hear even elephant might be on the table.” Jon couldn’t help the smile that broke out at Tyrion’s joke...or what he hoped was a joke. Tyrion, for his part, looked pleased. 

“So do we have an agreement? We will need to go into the specifics, of course, but I’m sure we can work that out.”

It was a good offer. Aye, a better offer than Jon could have hoped for. Knowing Daenerys, he had expected to be relegated to a powerless consort with only vague offers to consider aid for his people. Whether he had misjudged her or her Hand had over-ridden her, Jon did not know. It did not matter, so long as they kept true to their word. 

Yet...Jon still hesitated. He had never expected to marry for love, not since Ygritte had died. Seven hells, he had not even expected to live past the Great War. But to be King of the Seven Kingdoms? Even by marriage? To be officially recognised as not Jon Snow, but Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name? To marry his own aunt, strictly political though the match would be? It was too much. All he had ever wanted was to go _home_. And his home was _here_ , in Winterfell, with Sansa and Bran, with his people.

Around him, the air of the godswood was cool and familiar. Beyond these walls, open fields stretched out in every direction. He had grown up in these lands. He had expected to die in these lands. 

His silence was dragging on too long. Tyrion’s brow furrowed, worry and confusion evident. Jon twisted on his heels, caught sight of Davos’ surprised eyes as he turned. This wasn’t the plan.

“Forgive me, my lord, Your Grace,” His throat was so tight his voice came out as barely more than a rasp. He did not dare look at Daenerys. “I need a moment-”

“You owe me.”

It was the first time she had spoken the whole meeting. Jon stopped dead in his tracks, breath caught in his throat. Reluctantly, he turned back to face her.

Daenerys’ violet eyes, so soft in colour, were piercing in her hard, cold gaze. Jon willed himself not to recoil.

“What do you mean?”

“My armies were decimated defending _your_ home.”

“They would have been decimated regardless.” The words came out automatically, almost a reflex from the numerous arguments he had had with her on this.

“I could have stayed South-”

“And faced certain death.”

“Missandei _died_ for you. Jorah, Viserion, they died for you,” Jon felt like he had been slapped. Daenerys had stalked closer with each word. She stood before him now, heartbreak blooming on her delicate features. “You owe me. After everything, you owe me this _one_ _thing_. Have I not given enough for you?”

In that moment, hearing the slight crack in her voice, the desperation that crept into her eyes, Jon knew he had lost.

 

 

+++

 

 

“Are you going to stand there forever?”

Sansa’s teasing words dragged Jon out of his melancholy, and he greeted her with a smile. She looked beautiful in her winter furs, red hair stark against the snow. _Kissed by fire_. Jon forced the thought away.

“I might. Winterfell is beautiful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Sansa came to stand beside him in the castle courtyard. Her breath came out in small puffs in the cold air. “Winter is still here. Now that the Great War is over, I feel like I can finally enjoy it.”

Her words brought a pang to his heart. He would be leaving soon. After the marriage contract was drawn up, he would have to travel south. It would be his first time. Jon turned his gaze back to the courtyard, the people milling about, the familiar stone and wooden structures of the castle rising up around him. So many memories here, all lost to the sands of time.

“I have agreed to marry Daenerys.”

Beside him, Sansa stiffened, caught off-guard by the sudden announcement. A few seconds passed before she responded. “When was this?”

“Just this morning. Tyrion called me and Ser Davos out to the godswood. Daenerys was there too.”

“You should have told me. I should have been there.”

“It was between our Hands, Daenerys and me. The marriage contract hasn’t been drawn up yet anyway. Tyrion plans to do it over the next week. Lady Olenna is coming here to aid in the negotiations, since Daenerys doesn’t want to leave while Rhaegal is still injured,” Jon paused. “I was hoping you might assist us.”

He stole a glance at Sansa then. They had never spoken about the turn their relationship had taken after his parentage was revealed. When her name had first been uttered as a potential marriage match, Jon had felt disgusted. Sansa had not reacted quite so violently. Months on, ruling their people together, learning to work in tandem as lord and lady of Winterfell, Jon was no longer quite sure what he felt, only that it felt comforting to have her steady presence beside him.

“Is that all right?” He asked softly. “You don’t-”

“I will do it,” Sansa drew a deep breath, as if to give herself strength. “Davos needs someone there with him. He won’t be able to go against Tyrion and Lady Olenna himself, and I know the North better than him.”

“Thank you, Sansa.” Jon said earnestly. They had not always agreed on the choices he made as a leader, but he trusted her, and he knew she would be the best person to fight for the North’s interests. 

“You can stay, you know,” Sansa said after a short silence. “You don’t have to follow her South. You can marry her and come back here.”

“You know that can’t happen.”

“The North needs its king to rebuild. You could consolidate power for her here.”

“You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

Sansa paused, eyes roving slightly as if searching for another tactic to convince him to stay. “You don’t need to marry her. We could survive. ”

“You don’t believe that. With your uncle on the Small Council, and your cousin bending the knee to the Queen, we can’t even be sure of our influence over the Riverlands and the Vale. Everything north of that is still frozen over. Winter is not over. We have no food to feed ourselves.”

“Uncle Edmure and Robin are my family. And Lord Manderly can secure us food from Essos.”

“Do you really think Essos would risk the wrath of a woman who conquered Slaver’s Bay with her dragons? She could easily blockade the North and starve us out. We can’t isolate ourselves in the North, Sansa.”

Sansa bit her lip. She knew all this of course. It was her own way of coming to terms with the inevitable. “She won’t let you live, either. She can’t risk an uprising from houses that want to seat the true heir to the Iron Throne on the Iron Throne.”

“No, she can’t. Either I marry her and secure her rule, or I die.”

“She would have us to fight if she touches you.” Sansa said so fiercely that it brought a smile to Jon’s face. She sounded so much like Arya.

He sobered instantly at the thought. 

“She might lay waste to the North. You wouldn’t survive. And I could not take another death.” His voice was anguished. Sansa, Bran. They were the only family remaining. Ned Stark, Robb, Rickon, _Arya_. Jon’s eyes stung with unshed tears. The pain might never go away. Sometimes, he wanted to return to the cold darkness of death, if it meant that this empty void in him would stop tearing himself inside out. 

As if she could feel his hurt, Sansa’s hand slipped in his. He enjoyed the comfort of her warm body as she leaned in, even though he knew he should step away. This would only hurt her, and confuse him. But Jon could not bring it in himself to do so, not when he was weeks away from leaving his home. She was the only one he had left, that he really had left, for Bran was no longer truly their brother. 

“Things can still be different.”

Jon gave her a sad smile. “You know it can’t be, Sansa. I would do anything to keep you and Bran safe.”

They looked up at the sound of a door opening on the walkway above them. Daenerys strode out, deep in conversation with one of her bloodriders. She was dressed in her traditional Targaryen garb of black and red. Her silver hair was drawn back in a simple braid, unlike the intricate ones she used to wear.  

_Missandei would have braided her hair._

Jon stepped away from Sansa, shame and guilt rising up inside him, as it so often did these days. “I will see you at dinner.”

 

 

+++

 

 

The marriage contract was quickly drawn up in a series of intense meetings over the next few days. His most important bannermen were informed of the negotiations behind closed doors, although they were forbidden from participating. They insisted on remaining in Winterfell, however, as a form of intimidation, despite his numerous reminders that it was imperative they return home as soon as possible, to guide the reconstruction of the villages and towns that had been devastated in the war. In truth, he had little patience for their continued complaints about Daenerys. Jon was dejected enough without having a room full of prickly men and women hash out the same old lines again. 

In any case, Olenna Tyrell largely dictated the terms. Even if she did not control the flow of coin and food by virtue of her position as the Master of Coin and matriarch of House Tyrell, her far greater experience in politics and her natural shrewdness meant her word usually worn out.

“Sansa, my sweet girl,” Olenna had said after a particularly excessive request from Sansa, “don’t try to drive a hard bargain. Your people have no food. So unless you want to eat snow for your supper, I suggest you start throwing out reasonable figures.”

Despite her harsh words, the Queen of Thorns was not a cruel woman. They secured early shipments of grain, fruits and livestock, with definite timelines for future supplies. Daenerys agreed to leave a small portion of the Unsullied to aid in the reconstruction of Winter Town. Jon was gratified by her offer, knowing how few of them remained from their original numbers, and how fondly she felt about her faithful soldiers.

Discussions over the location of the marriage took up a better half of a day. Tyrion’s first proposal was to hold one immediately, in front of the Old Gods in Winterfell itself. That would secure the North before they even rode south. Jon’s heart lurched in his chest at the thought of marrying Daenerys so soon. He gave a silent prayer of thanks when Sansa promptly objected, not willing to set the alliance in stone before the first shipment of food even reached. Jon told himself that her personal feelings did not factor in her vehement opposition.

As the negotiations wore on, Jon felt a headache form. It was unsettling that, after wars fought against a literal army of dead people and animals, so much time could be spent on deciding which religion to officiate his marriage.

Across the table, Daenerys herself seemed impatient for the talks to end. She caught his eye and, as if that gave her purpose, she finally ended the entire discussion.

“We will marry in two months in King’s Landing, in front of the New Gods,” The tone in her voice clear that it would brook no argument. “We will hold a ceremony at the godswood in King’s Landing after that and renew our vows the next time we visit Winterfell. But the first blessing _will_ be under the Faith of the Seven.”

Jon knew the move was political, given the religious fervour that still gripped the majority of southerners, but he wondered if perhaps she too did not wish to marry him so soon. 

Missives would be sent across Westeros to attend the wedding, even if it would not be the grandest affair. Still, Tyrion insisted that at least some spectacle be made out of it, as this presented an opportunity for the realm to celebrate.

“Life needs to go back to normal. The realm needs to see the heroes of the Great War united and ushering in a new era.”

 _Heroes_. The word made Jon uneasy. Daenerys, on the other hand, preened at the words.

It was nearly the hour of the wolf before the contract was finally signed. Jon’s head was pounding painfully by that point. He quickly agreed to officially announce the marriage the next day after supper in the Great Hall, eager to just retreat to his room for some much-needed sleep.

He was so preoccupied in his own misery that he did not notice Daenerys had stayed back in the meeting room with him. He gave a start when she spoke.

“What are you thinking of, my betrothed?”

Jon shifted uncomfortably at her address. Daenerys’ expression was sly. It was deliberate, meant to irritate him, and despite his attempts to ignore it, she achieved her goal far too easily. He scowled at her and turned back to the table where parchments and quills still lay around. Tyrion had taken the marriage contract with him for safe-keeping.

It was the first time they had been alone together since...he could not remember. Perhaps before the last battle. He thought of her then, standing on the battlements in her armour, ponytail fluttering in the air, looking like a warrior queen. He remembered her angry words and his own shouts. She had gotten her way in the end. He had been a fool to ever think it could be otherwise.

“You got your way,” he told her now. Daenerys raised her eyebrows in question, so he clarified, “What you said before the battle. You told me that once the war was over, you would get the Iron Throne, and that I would not stand in your way.”

Daenerys’ brows furrowed as she attempted to recall the conversation. “Oh...I suppose I did.”

“I thought you were going to murder me in the battle.”

Daenerys burst out laughing. Jon frowned. Even her laughter always had an undertone of cruelty and arrogance to it. How did the woman manage to do that? Did she never feel true mirth? 

“Contrary to what you think, my beloved husband-to-be,” Jon winced. “I don’t murder people in cold blood. Not unless they really deserve it, which unless you hide a terrible secret from me, I don' think you. I’m not sure how to feel though, that your first thought was that I would kill you, rather than marry you.”

“You _are_ intimidating, Your Grace.” He admitted. 

That sly expression settled on her features again. “So you are scared of me?”

Jon hesitated, wondering how honest he should be. At this point, he wasn’t sure what he could lose. “Perhaps.”

Her eyes sparkled. It was really her most catching feature, even more so than her hair.

“Good,” she said triumphantly. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

“You want me to be scared of you?” he scoffed, annoyance rising in him. “Hardly a good basis for a happy marriage.”

“Is that what you want? A happy marriage?” Daenerys asked, walking along the side of the table towards him. His body automatically straightened, shoulders tensing in preparation for a fight, as they often did when he spoke with her. There was always something extremely unnerving in the way she moved around him, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey.

“If I had a choice, I would not marry you at all. Unfortunately, we are two signatures past that point.”

An emotion flickered across Daenerys face, resembling something close to hurt.

 _Good._ He thought unkindly. _Let her hurt, if she must antagonise me like this._

He waited for her heated words or further jibes at his deference to her will. It was like a second nature to them at this stage. In their months fighting alongside one another, there had been few moments when they had managed to maintain a friendly conversation. So it surprised him when no such words came. Instead, Daenerys seemed to abandon whatever plans she had had when she stayed back to speak to him. Her countenance transforming back to her usual stoic mask once more, she gave him a small bow of the head. 

“I’ll leave you to your own misery then, my lord,” she said coldly, leaving him to stew in his feelings of frustration, confusion and guilt.

 

 

+++

 

 

The reaction of the lords was more muted than he expected, not that he was complaining. He supposed they had exhausted all grievances they had. Or perhaps they recognised that there was no point making noise at this stage. Jon had given the announcement simply, not bothering to embellish his words, knowing that Daenerys would not be able to resist the temptation to do it for him.  

“The realm will see a new dawn. The second Long Night has finally ended and rule of the Usurper broken. Together, we will return to Westeros to its former glory, under the banner of House Targaryen.”

Her eyes burned bright in the braziers of the Great Hall as she spoke. Her voice was almost fervent. Not for the first time, Jon thought of the saying that whenever a Targaryen was born, the gods tossed a coin.

_But if she is half-mad, I must be as well._

He tuned out as Davos and Tyrion summarised the important provisions of the marriage contract. His food looked bland and unappetising, bringing back memories of his time after returning from the dead. Then, too, he had little appetite.

“You better enjoy your food, Jon Snow,” Daenerys said coolly from beside him. He looked up expecting another cruel jibe and was surprised to see her expression almost pitying. “It will be one of the last few times you get to enjoy it for a very long time. You will be moving to a new home very soon.”

He realised that she was trying to be kind, possibly as an olive branch after their conversation the previous night. The words only served to make him feel worse. He took a swing of his drink instead, letting the ale soothe his mind.

_Home._

 

 

+++

 

 

Sansa came to his chambers that night. She was wrapped in a large cloak, and through the gaps in the furs, he noted that she was in her nightgown. His heart began to beat fast.

“It is late, Sansa,” Jon did not approach her. He was sitting on his bed, a dangerous place, and he was fairly inebriated, an even more dangerous thing.

She padded over. “I know. I just...I just had to see you.” She stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that he could reach out and pull her to him, onto the bed. Jon swallowed thickly and stared resolutely at the spot on the wall.

“What is it?” He saw her take another step towards him. “Stop.”

She didn’t. Instead, his agitated command seemed to embolden her, because the next thing he knew, she was seated next to him on the bed and her fingers were curling underneath his chin. He allowed her to turn his face gently towards her.

She was too close. Jon could smell the sweet, familiar scent of flowers on her. He had always liked the perfume and had told her as much before. He breathed in deeply, head dizzy from the effects of too much drink and the pervasive sweetness that invaded his lungs. Sansa took it as encouragement and shifted closer, hand now cupping his cheek and breasts pushing against his shoulder where she leaned in. In the light of the fire, her hair appeared redder than ever before.

Ygritte appeared in his mind. Writhing, moaning underneath him, hands threading through his curls and yanking her face down to meet her lips. It had been so long since he had had a woman...and Sansa was only his cousin. Not a sister, never a sister...

_You are Rhaegar Targaryen’s son._

The thought burst into his consciousness and Jon jerked back, yanking himself out of Sansa’s grasp and standing up before he made a mistake that he would never be able to take back.

_I am not Rhaegar’s son. Rhaegar abandoned his wife. I am not his son._

Sansa stood as well, her cheeks flushed, whether in arousal or embarrassment, he could not tell.

“You should leave.” 

When Sansa wanted something, she never gave up easily. “You know you want this as well. It is one of your last nights here. We can-”

“I am betrothed,” Jon interrupted, closing his eyes and clutching his temples. It was the alcohol. It was muddying his thoughts. “I promised myself to Daenerys.”

“No one will ever know.”

“ _I_ will know,” It was not right. Even if he did not love Daenerys, he owed it to her to be faithful. He would not turn his back on the person he had promised his life to. When Sansa took a determined step forward, Jon straightened his back and stood his ground. He forced his voice to be steady. “and you are my sister.”

It took a moment, but Sansa accepted the rejection for what it was. Her eyes were watery as she stepped back. Jon fought the urge to reach for her, to draw her body to his and claim her lips. It was only lust speaking, he told himself, and the countless mugs of ale you downed at dinner. She was his sister, the same way Arya was. _You never cared for her that way, not the way you loved Arya._ Jon silenced the traitorous voice.

When he did not speak again, Sansa only nodded and left his room silently. Jon hoped that the guards stationed outside did not hear anything. He wondered what would happen if they did. He collapsed into his bed, wishing Ghost was beside him, regretting sending his companion out for a hunt. Then he would not be alone with only his wretched mind. 

Jon survived for a barely a quarter of an hour before he slid his hand down his breeches, thoughts a confusing mass of red hair and shifting faces.

He could not sleep from the shame afterwards. He did not have a private moment again with Sansa before he left Winterfell.

 

 

+++

 

 

They departed for King’s Landing a few days later. Rhaegar’s punctured wing had finally recovered enough to take flight. One evening, they had been roused from sleep by the roars of the two dragons, the beating of their great wings sending reverberations through the castle walls. It signalled that the time had come for Daenerys to leave as well, and with her, the last of her armies remaining in the North and Jon.

The morning of his departure, Jon descended the familiar steps to the crypt. He had been unable to visit since the end of the Great War, no matter how many times Sansa had gently prodded him too. This was his last chance before he left south. He did not know when he would be back.

He stopped first at his father’s statue. Sansa had always complained that it did not bear any likeness to him. Jon was not so unkind to the sculptor. It was difficult to capture a person exactly - a statue could not replicate the softness of a man’s eyes or the tired lines of his face. They could not capture his gait, the way he stood, the way he leaned over a banister, looking down at his children, pride and amusement apparent in his smile.

In the same way, these statues could never replace Robb’s smirk, Rickon’s little grin or Arya’s...Arya.

Jon reached out a shaking finger to touch her statue. It was small, too small. She had grown taller since he had seen her as a child, the same way Rickon had, but she had still been tiny next to him.

_Why did you leave me? Why did you have to try and be a hero? Daenerys would have taken care of the White Walkers. I could have slayed the Night King myself. I didn’t need you._

That was a lie. Daenerys had been more than overwhelmed that night. If Arya had not helped fend off the White Walkers, Jon would never have reached the Night King.

_You are too young. Rickon was too young. I will never see your smiles again. I will never hear your voice. I never heard Rickon’s voice again either, only his dying gasps. Would Robb be alive if I had been by his side? I failed him. I failed Rickon. I failed you. I failed Catelyn. What would she have said if she saw me now? Her trueborn children murdered and the bastard the heir to the throne, rising up to be king._

Jon fell to his knees, hands clutching his chest and willing the pain to go away.

_I would give it all back. I would be a bastard again if I could have you all back._

Jon sobbed in front of Arya’s tomb for many hours before the tears dried out. He had never felt so alone before.

 

 

+++

 

 

Those remaining at Winterfell assembled in the courtyard to see the royal party off. Jon kissed Bran’s forehead like he had so many years before, when Bran had been naught but a young child lying at death’s door and Catelyn Stark had looked on with hate in her eyes. It broke his heart receiving only a vacant gaze in return. Unlike Sansa, Bran would not be attending the wedding. The maesters doubted his body would survive the strain of any travel.

“Take care of him.” Jon whispered to Sansa. They both hesitated, holding each other’s gaze, tension thick in the air, before finally Jon let out a breath and pulled her into a tight embrace. She held on for a long while, perhaps slightly too long and too close than was proper. When they parted, she gave him a sweet, lingering kiss on the cheek.

“I know I will see you soon, but...I will miss you.”

Jon’s heart ached. They had not been apart for more than a few days for nearly three years now. “I will miss you too,” he replied.

Jon felt Daenerys’ piercing gaze on him when he strode to his horse. He ignored her. They had agreed to ride out of the gates of Winterfell as a show of unity, but he could not be bothered to put up any more of a display than that. He forced his gaze forward as they made their slow procession through Winter Town, wedged between Daenerys’ remaining forces, but when he crested the hill that would take him out of sight of Winterfell, Jon could not help drawing his stallion to a stop and turning back. Daenerys stilled her horse to wait for him.

In the distance, the walls of Winterfell loomed large and high, the ancient weirwood barely visible to one side. He etched the memory in his brain, promising to return.

Home...it would always be Winterfell to him. It would be with Sansa and Bran and his own people. Never King’s Landing, never the Red Keep. Never with Daenerys. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, let me know what you think. If you have any questions, please ask away. Some insight into this fic:
> 
> 1\. It was really really hard to write Jon/Sansa. I saw them as a purely sibling relationship on the show, so I struggled to write them romantically. Ultimately, I settled for what we have above. 
> 
> 2\. I have the next chapters written out. I initially planned to write the entire fic out but I was impatient as usual. 
> 
> 3\. Did I mention that I love slow burn and enemies to friends to lovers tropes? 
> 
> 4\. We were cheated of boatbaby. I'm sore. So very sore. 
> 
> 5\. Beware of the unreliable narrator.


	2. Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's the new chapter. Thank you for all the support you showed me for the first chapter! I really appreciate each comment you have left me. I knew when I posted the fic that it would raise the ire of a lot of people so it was heartening to see that there were so many willing to give this story a chance. 
> 
> A gentle reminder that this fic was essentially a "fix-it" for the work that inspired this, which means the Jon/Sansa pairing will feature, although to a much lesser degree now. I have so many Jon/Dany goodies in store in the coming chapters. Writing (and reading) a slow burn, developing love story may be painful at times, but I promise I will try to make it completely worth it by the end. 
> 
> Also, I want to clear some things up: Jon did not go south to seek Daenerys' help. I alluded to him sending a letter to Daenerys for help, which means the dead had already descended upon them by the time she came North. That is where they first met. I played a little loose with the timings but it's been about three years since Sansa found Jon at Castle Black, around two years since Daenerys first landed in Westeros and Jon's heritage was revealed, and a year or so only since they first met. It's not super important to this story, so if you have questions, please ask away! 
> 
> I don't have a beta, so again, please point out glaring errors to me if you spot them. I already fixed some dialogue punctuation for the first chapter. 
> 
> Without further ado, here we go!

 

 

**_past._ **

****

_The Northern lords were in an uproar. The din in the Great Hall grew more chaotic as copies of the High Septon’s diary from the Citadel were passed around. Jon cast a nervous glance at Sam, whose face reflected his own anxiety. Bran, on the other hand, was as stoic as ever._

_“Let them process,” he said, voice blank and eyes empty. “They know it to be true. They know my visions are not false.”_

_A shiver went up Jon’s spine at the reminder that this man beside him was not his brother, not his sweet Bran. He was a magical creature of almost unparalleled power. Not for the first time, Jon wondered if it was folly to place so much faith in his visions. There was no way to know whether the Three-Eyed Raven was any more benevolent than the Night King._

_Sansa slid her hand across his tightly clenched fist where it lay on his lap. Her smile was reassuring._

_“We are here for you, Jon.”_

_He gripped her hand back tightly, grateful beyond words for her presence. She had grown up indeed. No longer a spoiled girl, but a woman, fair and smart._

_“I know.”_

_Bran was right. The lords finally calmed down enough for some of the more powerful bannermen to speak. Unsurprisingly, it was Lord Glover who led the charge._

_“You are not a Stark, but a true-born Targaryen,” he said shakily. The tense atmosphere in the room worsened and people shifted in their seats uncomfortably. “Ned Stark was never your father.”_

_Jon could not help his grimace. “Aye, he was not. He raised me to keep me safe from Robert Baratheon, who had sworn to kill every last Targaryen alive.”_

_“A Targaryen...ruling the North…” Lord Glover breathed. The hall descended into mild pandemonium again at those words._

_Of course that would be one of their biggest concerns. Jon was fully aware that he would likely be cast down from his position as king once he announced who his parents really were. He didn’t care. He had never cared about the crown on his head, only the fight to defeat the dead. Sansa could be queen, or even Bran, and he knew both stood with him. He was sure of that. With this conviction in mind, he steeled himself for whatever conclusion his bannermen came to, impatient to get on with it. He could already see quick glances thrown towards his siblings by some in the gathered audience._

Cast me down. _Jon thought grimly._ Just do it quickly. Every moment we waste on this is a moment we could spend preparing for the Night King. What does it matter who is king? We will only be ruling over a graveyard.

_It should not have surprised him either that Lyanna Mormont stood up. As always, the din settled to let the young lady speak._

_“With all due respect, Your Grace, my lord,” Lady Mormont inclined her head towards Lord Glover, who nodded back in acknowledgement. “I disagree. As far as I care, Lord Eddard Stark_ was _your father, Your Grace. He raised you, did he not? He treated you as his son, did you not? Robb Stark, the King in the North, was your brother, was he not?”_

Of course he was, _he replied fervently in his mind._ I loved him. I would do almost anything to have him again here with me. 

 _Lyanna continued, her voice resolute and strong, carrying easily across the Great Hall despite her small stature and age. “I don’t care who your birth father was. That’s all he is. You are of Stark blood. You are of Stark history. You fought for us, you fought with us. You still fight for us and our survival. You rule fairly and justly. The North remembers._ You are our king _.”_

_Her rousing words stirred feelings of deep pride within him and he quickly blinked away the tears that threatened to rise, for he could not appear emotional in front of his people. It was apparent that others in the room were similarly affected._

_Lord Manderly stood up as well, expression sombre. “Lady Mormont speaks true. She is truly as ferocious and strong as her namesake. Is she not a timely reminder that Lyanna Stark’s blood runs through Jon Snow?” Lord Manderly turned to face him. “I stand by you, Your Grace. House Manderly stands by you.”_

_Lord Tallhart rose. “We are proud and free, but we keep faith with House Stark because we believe in you. That faith will not break today.”_

_One by one, the others followed suit. One by one, they drew their swords, renewing their vows. The cries ran out loud once more in the darkness of the winter night._

_“The King in the North!”_

 

 

+++

 

 

**_present._ **

 

Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief as he slid into his seat at the Crossroads Inn. They had been travelling for over a week now and were not far off from King’s Landing. Thankfully, they moved faster than the last time Tyrion had travelled with a royal couple. He chuckled to himself at the thought of Daenerys insisting on being ferried about in a carriage and stopping every few hours at a lord’s manor. No, his queen was every bit the Khaleesi who had braved the Red Wastes with her khalasar. He had long since given up trying to keep her safe behind the battle lines or, in this case, stowed away in a secure carriage.

 _How different from my own sister._  

Now that peace had returned to the realm and ruling became the primary concern again, Tyrion found his thoughts turning to his late sister more often than usual. The memories that came to him most frequently were of her as a young woman, beautiful and as radiant as the sun. 

_Maybe I want to remember her as the young and hopeful girl she once was, rather than the mad queen she died as._

He preferred not to think about Cersei’s last moments. _If I still feel so conflicted about her death, how must Jaime feel? Does she haunt his sleep? Does he still see her blood on his hands? Does he relive the moment he killed her, how the life drained away from her eyes beneath him, or the betrayal and anger in them? I only hope his lady knight can give him some comfort and they can start a new life together. He has been given a second chance._

As he mulled over his siblings’ fate, Tyrion took in the inn’s interior. The place was surprisingly untouched by the battles with the dead, save for a few smashed windows shoddily patched up with badly-hewn wooden planks. Business was bustling, benefiting from the massive influx of travellers. A constant stream of soldiers and refugees passed through its doors, each heading in opposite directions to their respective homes. There were a few locals seated at a nearby long table.

“Did’ya catch the Dragon Queen outside?”

“Saw some silver hair but her damn soldiers blocked most of the view.”

“Wanted to see her face. Carl saw her when she rode in. He keeps swearing she really is the most beautiful woman this side of the sea.”

“Who cares about a woman? I want a look at her dragons. Can’t see nothing though.”

“Heard she saved all them folks up north from death. Rained fire and blood on her enemies like her family’s words. Heard her people’s doing some good work down south too.”

“Aye, thinking of heading to King’s Landing. Lots of construction work that’ll pay good money. Free stuff being handed out too. It’ll be a good place to pick myself up again and get my old lady set for a comfortable life.”

Their chatter pleased him and lined up with the general mood of most towns they had passed through – optimistic and curious about the new queen.

 _We have lost much but Daenerys’ rule is still secure. The smallfolk love her even if the nobles fester in their prejudice. No matter. Two dragons out of three should be more than enough to keep most people in line even if her armies are a fraction of their original numbers._ He raised a hand to gain the attention of a server, his parched mouth hungry for some wine or ale, but the portly lady paid him no heed as she rushed by towards the kitchen. _Guess being the Hand of the Queen matters little…or maybe they think I am some mere dwarf._

Meanwhile, the conversation at the long table turned towards decidedly cruder stories of Daenerys. Wincing at their debasing words, and painfully aware that he himself had often spoken the same way about women back during his whoring days, Tyrion tried to block out the colourful descriptions of her breasts and cunt that were being traded.

_Well, at least there will be no shortage of men willing to prostrate themselves at her feet. Her personal losses are worrying. She is alone more than ever...I must have some of the Dothraki moved to the capital from Dragonstone to settle her in. Arrange for more Essosi meals....Hopefully she will be able to find some comfort in her new betrothed, even if he’s currently acting like a five year old child being denied the candy he wants. And speaking of him..._

“My good man,” He waved Jon over when the latter ducked into the inn. A wave of excitement rippled through the inn at the sight of the future king. Tyrion saw the same serving lady from before give a sharp yelp and yell into the kitchen. The table beside him immediately fell silent, shame-faced, though Tyrion doubted Jon Snow cared much about what they spoke. _Or maybe he will surprise me and defend his betrothed._

Predictably, the King did not appear to notice the commotion around him. 

“Come, join me,” Tyrion said as Jon slid into the seat opposite him. “Let’s have a mug of good ale before we get inundated with the sweet wines of the south. I hear the bread and pies here are fantastic.”

“Aye, Arya mentioned it to me before.” A dark shadow crossed Jon’s face at the slip of his sister’s, no, cousin’s, name. Tyrion tactfully changed the subject. 

“Where is our beloved queen?”

“She wanted to speak to the Tully forces before they leave for Riverrun,” Jon paused as the cook himself, a fat nugget with sweat dripping down his face who looked like he might faint soon, quickly jogged over and laid two mugs of ale and a basket of bread on their table. Tyrion glared at him, then the server behind him, who seemed to have realised her misstep in ignoring him earlier. _Some things never change. A dwarf remains a dwarf in most people’s eyes._

Jon remained oblivious. With a nod of thanks to the cook, who shuffled away nervously, he pulled his gloves off and eagerly grabbed a piece of the sweet bread. “She rides well.”

“Yes, I realised this must be the first time you’ve seen her on a horse.”

“I thought she would take the ship down to Dragonstone with the Greyjoy fleet. Or fly on Drogon,” Jon hummed in approval as he quickly devoured the sweet bread. “I didn’t expect her to ride the Kingsroad with the infantry.” 

“It is a show of respect to the Dothraki, among other things. You forget that Daenerys is a Khaleesi. After winning a battle, the khalasar are honoured by riding with their Khal. This is a variation of that. Plus, I think she wants to see more of her kingdom. In her words, ‘I can’t expect to rule a place I do not know.’”

Jon looked reluctantly impressed. “She mentioned making a tour of the kingdom after the marriage, when things have settled down.”

“She might fly then just to speed things along,” he joked, although he wasn’t opposed to the idea of reminding the numerous vassals of the might of her dragons. “You could ride Rhaegal with her.”

“That was a one-off thing.” 

“Don’t be a stubborn mule. Your Grace,” he added quickly after Jon’s glare. “Dragons are much smarter than you think, and they are beings of magic. They can sense the Targaryen blood in you. Rhaegal was named after your birth father. There is a bond there, magical and ancient. You should know, with that great beast following you around. Where is he anyway? Hopefully not terrorising people.”

That earned him another glare. “Ghost is better behaved than most humans. And he isn’t a beast.”

Tyrion smirked, the words familiar. “You sound so very much like our queen. You two are more alike than you know.”

“Really?” Jon scoffed. “I don’t see how we are similar.”

“Both of you united armies, gave supposed savages a chance-”

“I know the similarities in our background, my lord,” Jon cut across brusquely, unclasping the great fur coat around his shoulders. It was much warmer in the south despite the winter season, the worst of the cold having receded with the death of the Night King. “I meant how our personalities are similar.”

“Stubborn, proud, fierce in your convictions, brave, rash,” Tyrion ticked off his fingers as he recounted each trait. “It’s why you two are always at each other’s throat. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone be able to piss off our queen as much as you do, and she has _quite_ the temper.”

Jon said nothing, opting to stuff his mouth full of bread in a decidedly unkinglike manner. Tyrion gestured for some pie to be served. This time, the serving lady immediately yelled his order into the kitchen.

“You brood a lot. Have I told you that?”

“Only about hundred times. Remind me some more, I think I may have forgotten.”

“There you go again, brooding,” Tyrion gulped down more ale. It was too bitter and burned his throat, but strangely refreshing. “You know, most men in the world would kill to be Daenerys Targaryen’s husband.”

“They are welcome to take my place.”

“Are you really so opposed to her?” 

“I don’t want to have this conversation,” Jon said doggedly. The conversation stalled again while the serving lady laid down a freshly baked kidney pie in front of them. Tyrion waited until the woman was gone before continuing his assault. 

“She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. And she’s really not as unpleasant as you think she is. Scary, leaves you thinking she might feed you to her dragons, but really, she has never, or rather, very rarely actually done that despite all her claims.”

“A resounding affirmation of her character.”

Jon sounded so dejected that Tyrion took pity on him. The Hand truly did understand the man’s unhappiness, even if Jon was ultimately mistaken about who Daenerys was. Afterall, what had the former bastard seen except a proud Targaryen queen who spit words of destruction while laying waste to thousands of creatures from atop a mighty beast? Daenerys wasn’t blameless either. She had antagonised him at every turn, suspicious of his intentions ever since she learned that the King in the North was Aegon Targaryen. First, she believed him to be lying to claim the Iron Throne. Later, after meeting him and seeing the proof from the Citadel, she still believed he would challenge her seat. Even if Jon hadn’t been the true heir to the Iron Throne, Daenerys had grown up in a world where she had to cow men into respecting her. Although she had improved in her diplomatic skills from his and Olenna Tyrell’s training, her first instinct was still to belittle and intimidate. 

There was too much bad blood between them for things to immediately improve. Daenerys’ first overture to him after the signing of the marriage contract had gone badly. They had barely spent time alone with one another during the journey, despite Tyrion’s attempted manoeuvring. 

_They will have enough time after their marriage, I suppose, when things calm down. All I need to do now is to plant the seeds for a fruitful alliance._

“Look, you don’t have to love Daenerys Targaryen,” he said kindly, “although with enough time in her presence, I truly believe that you will come to admire her greatly. You have seen but one side of her, fire and blood. When you return to King’s Landing, you will see another side of her, a queen ruling her people justly and fairly. As a husband, you will see other sides of her too. All you need to do is give her a _chance_.” 

Jon didn’t seem to have an answer to that either. 

“It would also make things easier if you didn’t scowl at her so much. Let her see your handsome smile. Make her swoon. Why don’t you pick some flowers by a field on the way? There’s more than enough moors around us.” 

That succeeded in coaxing a smile out of Jon. “I’m sorry, Tyrion. Marriage counselling shouldn’t be your responsibility.” 

“No, it shouldn’t,” he admitted, happy that the conversation had turned lighter again, “but aside from my job, I like you, Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, whoever you choose to be. You are honourable and kind, and I want you to be happy.” 

The King in the North looked genuinely touched. 

“Thank you, my lord. That…” he trailed off, searching for the words, “…means a lot to me.” He paused for a few moments before smirking. “In return, I shall try to brood less.”

Tyrion barked out a laugh. He lifted his mug at Jon. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

_Plant the seeds. Let them grow._

 

 

+++

 

Her children were being ridiculous. 

Daenerys giggled as Rhaegal rolled his head on the ground in front of her, much more in the manner of a cat rubbing its head than an enormous dragon that could eat a horse whole. The next second, he was shoved unceremoniously out of the way as Drogon took his place. He nudged Daenerys’ shoulder with his snout, supremely gentle despite his size, and she rewarded him by softly stroking him. 

“You two are being silly, you know that right?” she said fondly, sitting back fully in a more comfortable position. “I don’t mind. We have all the time in the world now, my children.” 

She was seated in a small dale a short distance away from the main camp. It dipped beyond a range of low hills and was enclosed by a grove of elm trees on the other side. The valley was just about big enough for her dragons to nestle in with her, their tails knocking over a tree or two behind them. It was a cosy escape spot, the hustle and bustle of her armies barely more than a low hum in the background. It was not so chilly here either, even without her dragons’ breath warming the air, as the wind seemed to pass over rather than through the dale.

Her peaceful session drew to a close when she sensed a pair of eyes on her. Drogon and Rhaegal raised their eyes to face the new intruder. 

Jon Snow’s direwolf stood on the crest of the knoll above her. His eerie red eyes were unblinking as they slowly grazed over the dragons and herself. Daenerys had been introduced to him before and had taken quite a liking to him despite who his sire was. His presence was...calming. Silent on his feet, quiet in his demeanour, and always happy to receive chin rubs. There was an intelligence too in his eyes which suggested he was no ordinary creature. 

_He is like my children. Old magic flows through him._

“Come here,” she called out softly, raising a hand for Ghost to sniff. He trotted down happily to greet her, before Rhaegal’s indignant huff caused him to whine a little and falter in his approach. 

“Rhaegal!” she chided gently, although she knew he would never actually hurt the wolf. Her partiality to Ghost had caused no small amount of jealousy amongst her children, and Rhaegal in particular often expressed displeasure whenever the direwolf was near.

“We have all the time in the world,” she soothed her agitated child, “you can share.”

Ignoring her, and the direwolf who was now eagerly accepting her pets, Rhaegal’s head perked up and his annoyed huffs quickly changed to a low purr. Daenerys knew immediately what that meant. 

_I should have known from Ghost’s arrival..._

As expected, Jon Snow appeared half a minute later in the same spot that Ghost had just occupied. 

Daenerys suppressed a grin at his attire. The Northman had shed layer after layer the further south they rode. First the black cloak he loved so much, and which she would be hard-pressed to admit she favoured as well, had been discarded. Then the thick woollen gloves were swapped out for leather ones. The fur-lined vest was abandoned. Now he was dressed only in his riding leathers with his hands bare. After growing up in the frigid north and living at the Wall, Daenerys supposed the southern winter must feel mild to him. Not that she was complaining at his decreasing number of clothing. She did appreciate the ripple of muscles more visible under the thinner boiled leathers that he wore.

“Hello,” she said simply, before her thoughts became more perverted.

“Your Grace. I came to fetch my direwolf.”

A lie. “I didn’t know you kept such a tight leash on him. He seems much happier roaming free.” 

“Aye, he does and normally let him. I just did not want him bothering you,” came the chivalrous reply, a polite smile still on his face. She wondered what he was hiding, why he would bother to come find her and then lie about his intentions. _Perhaps his courage fails him_.

“He’s no bother,” she replied airily, not willing to let him escape so easily. “In fact, I think we are quite enjoying ourselves.” As if on cue, Ghost collapsed onto her lap. She giggled again and caught the tail end of Jon Snow’s eye-roll and a muttered “traitor”. 

Defeated, Jon descended the hillside towards her, albeit a fair bit more warily than Ghost. His eyes shifted rapidly between Drogon and Rhaegal, who had reared up to give the newcomer space. The trees behind groaned under the weight of the dragons and a few cracks split the air from where they simply snapped. Rhaegal’s head tilted in curiosity, the friendlier of the two, the purr still rumbling through his massive body. _The connection remains…he senses the blood of his namesake. There truly is magic in a name._

“Hurry up, Jon Snow. They won’t eat you.”

He chuckled nervously and came to a standstill beside her. “I know. I just don’t think they like me.” 

“Rhaegal let you ride him. That’s already a better sign than most...I think,” she added with an evil grin, which earned her a dirty look. “Tell me why you are really here, Jon Snow, and for god’s sake, sit down. You are making me nervous towering over me like that.” 

Looking chastised, Jon lowered himself slowly onto the ground. Daenerys felt conflicted at his imposition on her private time. On the one hand, she had been very much enjoying her children’s attention and now they had backed off, even Rhaegal, still unused to Jon. On the other hand, she could not deny being pleased that he had sought her out. 

“So?” she prompted, leaning over slightly. He looked extremely sheepish. 

“Tyrion mentioned you were here.”

 _Of course._ Daenerys should have known her Hand had played a role in this. He had recently been insistent that she dine with Jon privately, after she had foregone most meals with her Westerosi party to eat with either the Dothraki or Unsullied instead. It was not a complete excuse, for she had actually wanted to spend more time with her people, but there was no denying the slight she had felt at his earlier behaviour. When she did eat with Jon, she made sure their advisers were present and the conversations impersonal.

 _After the way he responded to my flirting that night..._ He had essentially called her a murderer and then immersed himself in his own self-pity. _Why should I be the one to seek him out? Now he has come to me._

“What did my Lord Hand say to you?”

“Nothing.” At her raised eye, he backtracked quickly. “Well, he said you should not be alone.”

“I am hardly alone.”

“Then he threatened to speak to me non-stop about his time in Essosi brothels if I did not go to find you.”

Daenerys burst out laughing at her Hand’s antics despite herself. “How does the King in the North get bullied so easily?”

“I wasn’t bullied,” he said defensively, which only caused Daenerys to chortle again. She rubbed Ghost’s chin affectionately while the direwolf stared up at her.

“What do you think, Ghost? Do you think your friend here was bullied?” A tongue rolled out on one side. 

Jon gave a disgusted scoff at his direwolf and they fell into silence. Daenerys wondered if she had managed to offend his fragile male ego once again. _God knows he’s always upset about one thing or another. I am to spend a life with this brooding man. At least he is handsome…_

She stole glances at him out of the corner of her eye. His side profile was quite pleasing on the eyes. Dark grey eyes, trimmed beard, his gorgeous black curls tied in a high bun. His sword arm appeared well-defined through the fitting grey gambeson he wore. She had seen him without his top once, stripped bare to treat his injuries, and the scars that littered his chest had taken her breath away. A king who had risen from the dead with magic in his veins, who fought every one of his own battles and was hailed as one of the best swordsmen the realm had ever seen – Daenerys found him undeniably attractive. 

 _I will not have to wait for summer to see him bare again,_ she thought shamelessly. _This man will be my husband. His body will be a sight for sore eyes, even if his personality is as prickly as the cacti in the Red Wastes._

“I wanted to apologise.” 

Daenerys was so deep in her own fantasies that she almost missed his words. “What?”

“I said, I wanted to apologise,” he repeated. “I have not properly thanked you since the war ended for all you have done for us, or called on you as much as I should have.”

“Did Tyrion put you up to this?” she asked drily, wondering what exactly the two of them had been speaking about in her absence. Jon shook his head.

“These words are my own. I have had time to think these past two weeks, doing nothing but ride most of the time. I know you lost much. The North may not be fanciful with our words, but we _will_ remember your deeds.”

 _We. He will always see himself as a creature of the north, no matter how long he spends in the south with me_. Her mood darkened, remembering the reception she had received from the lords and ladies of the North. Even after rescuing them from the brink of death and turning the tide of battle with her armies and dragons, they had judged her for her father’s sins and regarded her every move with suspicion. Though the soldiers and townsfolk had quickly warmed to her, the nobility still clung to a generation of prejudice no matter what she did. 

“I did not see much evidence of that.”

“They didn’t speak a word when our betrothal was announced,” Jon gave her an embarrassed shrug. “That was their way of accepting you.”

“Amazing,” she said sardonically. “Suddenly you seemed to be the most cheerful Northern lord I know.”

“They have had much reason to hate your family-”

“I am not having this conversation with you again,” she said firmly, her good mood definitely ruined. “If you cannot even thank me properly, then don’t thank me at all.” Her children sensed the roiling storm beginning to brew in her mind and stirred from their dozing. Before she could rise, Jon caught her by the forearm. The touch caught her off-guard.

“Please, forgive me. I _am_ thankful. We would have lost the North completely without your assistance, and you saved my life many times.”

The earnestness was hard to ignore. It was the most maddening thing about him. There was always an element of sincerely whenever he spoke, no matter if it was a plea towards her good graces or something that pissed her off completely. If there was one thing consistent about Jon Snow, it was that his honesty would be the death of him.

That did not mean Daenerys was not still angry at him.

“I accept your apology and your thanks, my lord,” she shrugged his hand off and rose to her feet. “I would like to spend time with my children now.”

The dismissal was clear. Jon looked frustrated and his mouth opened as if he had more to speak to her. Seeming to think better of it, he rose as well and, with a whistle to Ghost, trudged away, the set of his shoulders tight. _He is angry…There is much more he wishes to say._ Daenerys had an inkling of what he wanted to confront her about, for she was not blind to her own unfair behaviour. This was not the time or the place to address it however. For a moment, she just wanted to ignore the world and stay in her little happy cocoon.

_My children, you are the only ones that make me truly happy._

 

+++

 

 

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief when King’s Landing came into view. They had set out from Hayford Castle early in the morning, since she had been impatient for the long journey to end. She had itched multiple times throughout the last week to pull on Drogon’s tether and journey straight to the Red Keep. However, it was important to her to march with her remaining armies. Not just the Unsullied and Dothraki, whom she trusted to stay loyal to her to her end, but the men of the Reach, the Riverlands and Dorne who had followed her north despite their fledgling pledge to her rule. She would need to show the same appreciation to the Greyjoy fleet once she settled back in. They may not have fought directly in the Great War, but without the Ironborn assisting to ferry soldiers and refugees in and out of the North, many more lives would have been lost. She needed to ensure the newly independent Iron Islands remained allied with her as well. 

She heard Jon Snow’s sharp intake of breath when his stallion pulled up alongside her silver. 

“This is your first time seeing King’s Landing, is it not?” Daenerys asked. She found his reaction oddly sweet in spite of her lingering grudge. He looked young and almost innocent in his wide-eyed wonder of the sprawling city before him and the towering Red Keep in the distance.

“Aye, Your Grace, I have only seen it in drawings and heard of it through my family. It is my first time south. We don’t have much cities in the North.” 

“You will have ample time to explore. At least it is still winter so that will ease you in.”

“I couldn’t tell.” 

Daenerys smiled. It was the closest thing Jon had made to a joke in their limited conversations with one another. Or perhaps it was simply the truth.

Sensing the impatience of the procession behind them, she nudged her mare forward and called to him. “Come. It is time for the people to meet their future king.”

While the bannermen that housed them during their travels had received word of their impending marriage, many smallfolk still remained ignorant. The further south they had ridden, however, the more the smallfolk had turned up to view not just the royal procession and the heroes of the Great War, but the royal _couple_ that rode at its head. Young children ran up to hand her flowers and cries rung out congratulating them. Jon had looked extremely uncomfortable at the attention before she had whispered hotly at him to wave back with a smile. It always frustrated her how a supposed _king_ could be so reticent in interacting with his own subjects. 

 _I suppose he is always a warrior first. He never wanted to rule_. 

That was nothing compared to the crowds waiting for her at King’s Landing. A feeling of pride and vindication swelled up inside her at the sound of her name being chanted. When she had last left, the city’s citizens had viewed her warily, suspicious of her intentions after her swift conquest of half of Westeros and still reeling from the wildfire explosions that Cersei Lannister had set off in her last desperate stand. 

She had been unable to stay long enough to win them over. Her plans had been derailed by the arrival of Jon Snow’s letter and news of refugees fleeing south and the dead rising north of the Twins. In her absence, the work of her two remaining small council members was evident. Varys’ propaganda machine was in full swing, judging from the Targaryen banners that hung along the winding streets and the cheers that followed her, although she liked to believe that her efforts in the war would have done much of the heavy-lifting. She was also pleased to see the numerous restoration works in progress and the city guards that maintained order in the gathered crowds. Edmure Tully had been charged with overseeing both. 

 _If I could have shown this to Ser Jorah and Missandei. They had so much hope for me. Perhaps if I had left them behind, to rebuild the city, they would still be here. Perhaps if I had not been so selfish, and wished for my closest friends by my side, they would have returned gloriously with me._ Daenerys blinked away the tears that threatened to rise. _If I look back, I am lost._

“How long will this take?” Jon’s strained voice interrupted her sad thoughts, and for once, she was grateful for it. He dutifully waved a hand every now and then to the cries of _Aegon Targaryen_ , but his smile was quickly becoming a grimace.

“The roads are narrow and the people blocking us, but we should be at the Red Keep within the hour. In the meantime...” A wicked thought had formed in Daenerys’ head. _If he insists on being so disagreeable, I can have some fun at his expense. There’s no need for two of us to be miserable._ Daenerys pulled her horse close to Jon and took his hand. He nearly fell off in surprise while the cheers around them grew louder. “Let us show the people how in love we are.”

She nearly laughed at the effort it took for Jon to keep the scowl off his face. After a few seconds of controlled breathing, he squeezed her hand and gave her a tight smile. Up close, it was laughably fake, but Daenerys doubted their onlookers would be able to discern that. 

“Of course, my queen,” he bit out. 

Daenerys did let herself laugh at that, triggering another wave of cheers at the sight of the future king making his queen laugh. If the King in the North entertained her this much, at least she wouldn’t be bored.

 

 

+++

 

 

Daenerys moaned happily as she sank into the bath prepared for her. She had postponed the meeting of the small council to the next day, wanting nothing more than to rest and recuperate. It had been a while since she had ridden a horse for such a long continuous stretch of time. She would have to make it a habit to ride with her khalasar more, for it was shameful for a Khaleesi to be defeated so easily by a two-week journey on horseback.

She closed her eyes as Erri, her new Dothraki handmaiden, set to work on sorting out the tangles in her hair. The familiar grief welled up in her chest. _Missandei should be the one doing this. Oh, what I would give to hear her voice again._

Alone and tucked away in her own chambers, it was harder to tamp down on the tears. Her handmaidens were used to it by now and silently allowed Daenerys to shed her grief. _Missandei, Jorah, Viserion, Qhono, Ser Barristan_. The names went on. _Irri, Rakharo, even Doreah, who betrayed me. Rhaego, my sun and stars. Viserys, Ser Darry, my mother, brother, cousins and family I will never know._

How many more would she lose, now that the wars were over and she had finally achieved her goals? Would her marriage to Jon Snow be enough? Or would she have to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder for assassins who wanted Aegon, and Aegon alone, on the throne? Daenerys was not deaf. She heard the cruel whispers of her barren womb. She knew the Northern lords had pushed for Jon to marry Sansa Stark or Wynafryd Manderly and secure heirs. She knew people across Westeros would also wonder about succession. Bloodlines mattered here. 

Daenerys also knew a part of her was being selfish. _I am no longer the last Targaryen. Jon can bear heirs and continue the bloodline. Yet I have kept him for myself because I want the throne._

Another part was not so self-flagellating. She was firm in her belief that a rule led solely by Jon would be disastrous. The man might have held the North together due to his upbringing and the loyalty of the northern folk to the Stark dynasty, but ruling Westeros was a completely different thing. He had neither the patience nor the temperament to rule an entire continent of bickering kingdoms. His rigid code of honour and commitment to the ways of the Old Gods would have ruffled many feathers. He would have been assassinated before the first moon passed. 

But if she was beside him, not as a queen or wife but as family? Would that have been sufficient? 

_No. I have worked for this years. I was raped and defiled, sold like a broodmare by my own brother, betrayed by those I loved and trusted. Cursed. Why should I give it up? I can name an heir and the people will accept that heir. Perhaps Jon can bear a child with another, even if Tyrion insists he is too honourable for that. And if I were not his wife, I would not have his ear. Perhaps, perhaps…_

Lost in her anxious thoughts, Daenerys did not notice her tears dry and the water turn cold, until Erri gently placed a hand on her arm to tug her out. 

“You will catch a cold, Khaleesi,” the girl said softly in her native tongue, as Arolli stepped forward with towels and a thick, woollen robe.

She was led to a cushioned ottoman placed in front of the famed twin hearths of the royal bedchambers. She basked in the warmth while her handmaidens dried and braided her hair. Watching the roaring fires, her thoughts turned to her children. They had hovered nearby during the journey back to King’s Landing, still skittish and worried for her safety after the past year of fighting, seeking her attention more often than usual. She could feel them now, circling above the Red Keep. They were hungry. Her own stomach growled. 

Arolli gave her a small smile. “Dinner is waiting outside, Khaleesi. I had it brought to your solar, as you asked.” 

She spoke fluently in the common tongue. Daenerys was proud of the girl. She had worked hard in the past few months to learn the language after she was chosen to be Daenerys’ new handmaiden. Erri too was overcoming her natural shyness to emulate her sister. If only the people of this continent returned the favour and learned the Dothraki language as well, instead of scoffing at her people’s attempts to speak the common tongue. _Close-minded, worthless._

She would not allow them to sully her mood even further. Instead, she tried to count her blessings. Seated here, alive, safe, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she had achieved her goals. Her people had not died in vain. She would not allow that. Starting tomorrow, she would begin her rule proper. There were a hundred things to address. Kingdoms to rebuild, trade deals to be struck. Dragon’s Bay still required her attention although the councils appointed there were competent enough to maintain the peace. Daario had performed better than she could have expected. He would receive a generous payment and perhaps a personal visit soon…

Daenerys’ thoughts drifted to the newest man in her life. 

She had a wedding to plan as well.

“Have the King in the North join me,” she told Erri, in an inexplicable bout of impetuousness. “If he is eating already, ask him to stop.”

 

 

+++

 

 

Jon watched the dragons circle high above the Red Keep, their shrill cries piercing the air. The sun was setting and the temperature rapidly dropping. It was getting rather cold, the keep not being built with winter in mind and his hair still damp after his bath. Wishing for warmth, he felt that peculiar tug to Rhaegal again, although it remained weak. In the heat of the battle, surrounded by the magic of his brother and the Night King, the connection had flared bright in his consciousness. Even Ghost had been driven out. Since then, however, it only fluttered in and out of his mind, even when he had been standing right in front of Rhaegal. Daenerys had told him snottily that it had taken years before she was permitted to ride Drogon. 

“Don’t think you will have it easy,” she had said smugly. 

“I have little interest in riding him,” he had lied, just to cross her. The truth was that there was no experience quite like flying. It had been exhilarating, fantastical. He had cried out in awestruck joy, like a little boy, when he had first been lifted into the air on Rhaegal’s back, despite the death and destruction that surrounded him, and the all-consuming fear for Daenerys’ life that had bled into his mind from the dragon beneath him. More than once since then, he had felt an overwhelming need to touch Rhaegal, to climb onto his back and to soar into the sky. A childish part of him whispered that Daenerys would feed him to Drogon if he ever attempted it. 

A huff from Ghost drew Jon’s attention back to his bedchambers. “I’m sorry, boy,” he murmured as he kneeled down beside his direwolf and combed his fingers through the pristine white fur, “I’m not cheating on you.” 

It felt like it. Even on good days, Jon could hardly believe that he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. On bad days, he cursed his birth parents and their selfishness that caused the deaths of so many. He had spent many an evening in front of Lyanna’s statue in the Winterfell crypts, asking questions that would always go unanswered. _Why did you fall for him? Why did you agree to run away with him? Of all those you could have followed, must it have been a Targaryen prince with a wife and two children?_

Life would have been simpler if Ashara Dayne truly had been his mother.

He had been offered a change of name to Aegon Targaryen, just once, but his disgust had been so apparent that Tyrion never brought it up again. Not that it mattered much. Many had taken to calling him by that name. Lords and ladies, he could correct, but the smallfolk were out his hands. Their cries from earlier that day echoed in his mind. 

_Jon Snow. I am a Snow. Not Jon Stark. Certainly not Aegon Targaryen._

The touch of Daenerys’ hand lingered like a ghostly spectre too. He flexed his fingers, scowling at them, feeling irritated that he was so affected by it. Unbidden, a thought floated into his mind that the last woman to hold his hand was Sansa. 

His stomach twisted painfully and he winced in an effort to dispel all thoughts of her and that shameful night from his mind. The more he struggled, the harder it became. 

_She is your sister. It was the alcohol and your loneliness. You miss her like you miss Bran and Winterfell. It was Ygritte that you confused her with. Their hair._

Unsurprisingly, Ghost sensed his inner turmoil. He rose onto his haunches to nudge his head against Jon’s neck. The weight of the huge wolf knocked him back onto his ass and drew a quiet laugh from him. How easily his companion could lift his mood. He resumed petting Ghost, laying a light kiss on his head every now and then, feeling his agitated emotions subside to be replaced by a sense of calm. He had considered briefly leaving Ghost behind in Winterfell, not just to look after his family, but also because the North was where a direwolf belonged. The consideration had been brief indeed. He could not imagine parting for good with his closest and most faithful friend. 

_I would not be able to do this without you, boy._

Jon rose at the sound of a knock on the door. He wondered if it was Davos or, hopefully, servants coming to serve him dinner. Opening it, he found an Unsullied guard standing stiffly before him instead. 

“Queen Daenerys requests for a private dinner,” the Unsullied announced, the words were strange in his native accent. “Dinner has already been served in her chambers.”

For a wild moment, Jon considered turning her down. He could think of a thousand things he would rather do than eat a private meal with the Queen, their first. He could continue petting Ghost, sleep, roam the keep, find Davos, meet his own men...The moment passed quickly. Jon nodded. He could not be so childish. 

“Let me change,” he told the guard, deciding his light tunic was inappropriate wear for dinner. He had expected to be left alone for the rest of the evening.

He was later led out of the guest quarters towards the royal quarters. The distance between the two was short, but what lay in that short distance made Jon’s breath hitch. He had read many a story about the massive fortress that was Maegor’s Holdfast. As a boy, he had dreamed of walking across its drawbridge, touching the iron spikes that rose around him, dragging his fingers across its unbreachable walls. It might be one of the most breathtaking parts of the Red Keep. In just over a month, he would move here as well, into what used to be the Queen’s quarters. 

Daenerys was waiting in the private solar outside her bedchambers, already eating the berries laid before her, although the main meal itself was untouched. A pungent aroma pervaded through the room. He could not place the spices, perhaps Essosi in origin. The room was warmer than his own.

The guards left the room, closing the door firmly behind them, but her handmaidens remained respectfully seated in the corner of the room, pitchers of wine and sweet honey water standing ready for refills on a table in front of them. 

“I hope I did not interrupt your dinner, my lord,” said Daenerys, refusing as always to address him by his proper title. Jon had learned to ignore it. Instead, he eyed the setting as he unclasped his cloak and laid it on the back of his chair. The round table was small, big enough for three people at most, and there were only two chairs, one being occupied by the Queen. It was intimate. He glanced back at the handmaidens, who did not look up from where they sat, before gruffly nodding to Daenerys. 

“No, Your Grace. I had not yet called for dinner,” He hovered awkwardly for a moment before sinking into his seat. “You requested to dine together?”

“I thought it would be good to spend our first evening in King’s Landing together, before duty calls me away. This might be a rare chance for a private dinner. We rarely have these moments where it’s just the two of us.”

Jon did not know what to say to that, so he simply nodded. One of the handmaidens offered him a pitcher of wine. “Just the honeyed water, please,” he requested politely. The last thing he needed was to be drunk in the Queen’s chambers.

“Tell me, are your quarters acceptable?” Daenerys asked after his cup was filled.

“They are, Your Grace,” he responded, picking up his cutlery after she began her own dinner. He stared at the numerous dishes laid in front of him. He could not recognise a single one.

Presumably taking pity on him, Daenerys waved her fork at a few plates. “Try those first,” she said, “you will probably like them best.”

The flavours were exotic and rich and tasted foreign on his tongue. _Essosi food._ It wasn’t terrible, but it was a far cry from the warm stews and roast meat of his home.

“I had considered moving you into the royal wing immediately,” said Daenerys, who was happily tucking into the meal, “but I was counselled that it would not be proper to do so until the marriage. We will have to keep our distance until then.”

Jon’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. He had thought about their life as a married couple of course, more so than any other thought since he had agreed to it. But this dinner was the first time they were discussing in openly. How many more private dinners would they have? How many nights would he spend in her quarters? His eyes flickered to the open doors to her chambers. How many nights would he spend in her bed?  

Daenerys was watching him carefully and had no doubt seen where his eyes had wandered. There was a glint in her eyes that suggested that was her intention all along. She was the most vexing woman. 

“You look uncomfortable, my lord. Is the food not to your liking?” she asked innocently. 

Jon shot her an exasperated look. “You know it’s not the food.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I see that look in your eyes,” he said accusingly, though his words had little bite to them, “it’s that look you had when you held my hand today.”

“Did you not like me holding your hand?”

“That’s not-” She really was the most vexing woman. Jon considered dropping the conversation, but looking down at his tight grip on his knife, he was reminded once more of her slender fingers sliding across his gloved hand. He felt compelled to speak. “I’m not used to political games, putting on a show for people. I know I should learn it, that I can’t survive in King’s Landing without it, but it doesn’t come easily to me.”

Daenerys looked surprised at his answer. The mischief in her eyes faded and she continued to study him. When she finally did speak, he could not quite place the emotion in her voice. Serious, slightly sombre, and just a little sad. “You are a simple man, aren’t you? You do as you say, and you say as you do.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“Life’s not so simple.”

"It can be.” He thought of his father, his uncle, how his whole life had been a lie. “When enough people make false promises, words and actions stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers – only better and better lies.”

He waited for Daenerys to digest his words, then she said, “Lying helps sometimes.”

“Not when everything is a farce.”

“Is that what you think ruling is like?”

“It’s what I think politics is like. Unfortunately, it seems to come together with the ruling.” 

She did not dispute it, and the two fell into an uncomfortable silence, as they often did, the clink of cutlery and the occasional crack from the fireplace the only sounds in the room. Every now and then, a handmaiden rose to refill their glasses or to take away an empty plate. Jon was not a stranger to awkward meals. He was never the best conversationalist and had always been prone to bouts of silence when his mind was preoccupied. This was different though. Daenerys was meant to be his wife. 

_Will this be our future? A marriage of unhappiness where we can’t speak to each other? The last time we were alone together, we parted angrily. I could hardly apologise to her without raising her ire and she still seems to blame me for the losses she has suffered…_

He recalled Tyrion’s words a fortnight ago. The dwarf had implored Jon to give Daenerys a chance. He was correct. Whether this would be a pleasant marriage or not depended on their actions and words. Daenerys had invited him here, she had given him an opportunity to improve their relationship. He remembered Sansa in his room back in Winterfell. He thought of Elia Martell and what Sam and Tyrion had told him. 

_Rhaegar had a wife and two children. Sweet, kind and loving, if Oberyn Martell’s words to Tyrion were true. Yet he abandoned his duties and his vows simply for love. If he had stayed true to Elia, she may not be dead. The Targaryens may yet live…and two innocent babies and a woman would not have been murdered and raped. Thousands would not be dead._

_I will not be Rhaegar’s son,_ he thought, his eyes sliding over to Daenerys, small and silent just an arm’s length away. _I will not be a man that abandons his vows. I must try to make this work._

He deliberately placed his knife and fork down noisily to draw her attention to him. Daenerys gave him a questioning look. 

“Yes?”

Jon gathered his thoughts, nerves nearly choking his throat, and said, “I will do better. I promise. As a king, I know my duties and I will fulfil them. If politics come with those duties, then I will just have to learn. I’m sure Tyrion would be all too happy to lecture me. Your Hand likes to talk.” 

The corners of Daenerys’ mouth turned up in a half-smile. “We all like what we’re good at.”

 _I don’t,_ he thought. _All I’m good for is to fight and kill. Now I can leave that life behind, create a new one._

He breathed in deeply, carefully thinking about his words, and mustered all the bravery he had before staring straight into her eyes. “As a king, I will play the great game better. But I promise that as your husband, I will try never to lie to you. To be honest and true and faithful.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened in surprise, plainly caught off-guard by his sudden vow. As she sat there, stunned, a softness entered her face in a way he had not seen before. It transformed her. She looked not like a queen, or a warrior, but just a young woman.

_It is easy to forget that she is barely four and twenty when she is spitting fire and sitting on dragons._

The seconds ticked by before Daenerys found the words to respond, her voice softer than he had ever heard from her. “Thank you, Jon,” she said, and it did not escape Jon that this was the first time she had ever addressed him directly by his first name alone. “I...will try as well.” 

Daenerys was the first to break away from the moment. Few words were spoken again that night. She seemed lost in her own thoughts and Jon was content with just eating his meal, tasting the various dishes and forming opinions on which ones he liked, which were tolerable and which were completely inedible to his northern tongue. The silence was not entirely comfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable either. 

 _Perhaps we may grow into it,_ he thought, when he stood to take his leave for the night. Daenerys gave him a small smile, the same softness from before gracing her features, and he found that he liked it. _Is this what Tyrion meant when he said I would see another side of her?_

They could only move forward now, whatever that might be. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if you guys noticed but the chapter count for this fic has gone up. Chapter 3 was supposed to be where the fun happened but it's become a massive beast so I'm probably going to have to split it into two chapters. Oops. The last chapter will probably be an epilogue of sorts. If I can keep it to 10 chapters, I will. 
> 
> Also, I told some of you that I am aiming for a bi-weekly update schedule. I have written large chunks of the next few chapters out. However, work is gonna get really insane and I'm busy a lot of these weekends, so I apologise if there are delays. I will try to update as soon as I can.
> 
> Lastly, in my time living away from home, I found that food is one of the biggest triggers of homesickness. I had to work that into this fic somehow. Poor Jon sampling the food. I'll feed him some stew...soon. :P


	3. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting this! Work has been really busy and I had initially planned to get this posted while I went on holiday...but I forgot to bring the chapter draft along. 
> 
> The good news is that I wrote ahead more and updated my other (much fluffier, happier) fic instead. 
> 
> Truth be told, I also struggled a little because of some comments that I received, complaining about Jon's personality. I thought long about it, and felt that I was letting these comments affect my writing - I believe in listening to critique, but I also have to be confident in my story-telling and not twist characters just to make readers happy. 
> 
> Long story short, the characters we see in this story are not perfect and I don't want them to be perfect. There's no fun in that. They'll learn and this takes time. Some things, they may not learn and that's fine too. If you are able to stick around for that ride, then thank you! I really appreciate all the kind support, feedback and comments that I have received. It means a lot to me.

 

 

**_past._ **

 

_“Your Grace.”_

_“My lord.”_

_Beside him, Davos stiffened but did not speak up this time on the use of title. Jon had stayed his Hand’s indignance on the matter. This was hardly the time to be quibbling over insignificant matters like titles and addresses._

_“The scouts have brought word of the next wave of the dead,” he informed her politely. “Please, join us at the next war council meeting.”_

_The Queen only gave a curt nod. Considering that a sufficient acknowledgment and dismissal, Jon stepped by her in the narrow corridor to continue along his way. He was stopped before he could get far._

_“Aegon Targaryen.”_

_Jon’s stomach swooped low. Daenerys was fixing him with the same suspicious expression she had worn the previous night. One perfect eyebrow was raised as if in challenge. “You don’t_ look _like a Targaryen.”_

_“I am aware.”_

_“Yet everyone takes you at your word.”_

_“We have proof from the Citadel, and my brother-”_

_“Proof brought by your best friend and a brother who returns from a journey beyond the Wall claiming to see the past, present and even the future.”_

_The temperature around them seemed to drop by several degrees as they spoke. Daenerys’ diplomatic smile had turned vicious. Behind her, Tyrion winced and shook his head at Jon as if in warning. “Convenient, isn’t it?” she continued. “Perhaps even more convenient should I be wiped out in battle.”_

_“Is that what you think I am doing?” he said incredulously. He could not believe that she would be fixated on this when she had faced a literal army of dead people just hours ago. “I told you that I don’t care about the Iron Throne.”_

_“Yet you still claim to be the rightful heir to it.”_

_“I don’t claim anything. I only claim the truth of my birth. And, might I add, Your Grace,” he spat the title out in disgust, “_ You _came here. You knew what was happening north of the Twins, and how the entire continent would be decimated under the army of the dead. Now you act as if I have strong-armed you into committing your armies to a purely northern war.”_

_“I fight for the people’s survival,” Daenerys shot back, her voice rising in tandem with his, “but that does not mean I have to trust the intentions of the man leading them.”_

_“An army of the dead are outside our doors, and you are worried that I will take your throne? Could you forget about that damned thing for just one minute?”_

_“Your Grace,” both Hands interjected simultaneously. Jon reeled back, aware that he had let his temper gotten the better of him._ Damn it. Damn it all _, he thought. Daenerys, on her part, looked shame-faced as well, her cheeks turning slightly pink. It was obvious that this was not where she had intended the conversation to end up._

 _“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said as calmly as he could after he composed himself. “I forget my social graces. As I said, please, join us later_ _for the meeting.”_

_Not waiting for her dismissal, and well aware that he was being rude, he turned on his heel and stalked away._

_“That could have gone better,” Davos said once they had stepped out on to the courtyard._

_“She insists on talking about birth rights and the throne when the Night King is bearing down on us,” Jon said exasperatedly, heading towards the gates where the dead had managed to break through. “She was there, was she not? I didn’t imagine her on her dragons, burning the dead? After all that, she chooses to focus on the throne?”_

_“Perhaps this is her way of coping,” offered Davos, ever the sage. “It’s not easy to be confronted with the real thing, no matter what one has heard.”_

_“You are too forgiving.”_

_“She did come to save us. Her heart is in the right place.”_

_“Aye, she did,” Jon conceded. “We would not be alive without her. That says something about her, no matter what she is like in conversation.”_

_They came to a stop where a group of men were currently putting together a new, sturdier steel-enforced gate to replace the one that had been destroyed. A table had been dragged out into the courtyard holding a number of scrolls, all covered in sketches of the castle. He gestured at the men to continue their work and picked up one scroll, studying the suggested reinforcements to better guard against the next wave of attacks._

_“Say what you will about her personality, you can’t deny that she_ is _beautiful.”_

_Jon spared Davos a quick glance and noticed that the man was not even paying attention to the sketches. Instead, his Hand was turned up, towards the battlements. His line of sight led straight to the Targaryen queen, who was standing on the battlements above with Ser Jorah and her Unsullied Commander…Greyworm, if he remembered the strange name correctly. Her silver hair glistened in the afternoon sun. Only a blind man would deny her beauty. Perhaps even a blind man could sense it._

_“We should focus on our work,” he said reprovingly, feeling disappointed more at himself than at his Hand. “The dead will be back tonight. This time, they will be prepared for the dragons.”_

_“Surely you aren’t denying Her Grace’s beauty,” his Hand replied lightly, picking up the plans in front of him and assessing them half-heartedly. “I thought her Valyrian features were exaggerated, but all of them are true. Did you notice her eyes are really purple?”_

_“Hard not to notice.”_

_“Something out of this world.” Davos tossed the plans back down onto the table. “You know, there is a simple solution to all this talk of the throne.”_

_Jon sighed. “Marriage.”_

_“Correct.” A beat passed. “_ _Would you be so opposed?”_

_Jon snuck a glance at the Queen again. He thought of her on her dragon, so impossible a sight that it had taken his breath away. Then, the distrust and resentment in her eyes when they had properly spoken after the battle. Aegon Targaryen, she had called him, before he corrected her, which did not seem to please her at all. Confusing, since she now seemed incensed that he claimed the name. In their brief time together, she had not seemed to like him at all._

_To be married to her…_

_Sansa came automatically to his mind. Then Wynafryd Manderly. The two women he had been pushed towards the most this past year. He thought of Ygritte, beautiful, wild Ygritte, kissed by fire, whom he would never hold again, never kiss._

_“We can worry about marriage alliances after the war,” he said tightly. He didn’t have_ time _. Not when the dead were here. It was all that mattered. Defeating them. He had been brought back for a purpose, of that he was sure. Knives had been plunged into him, he had felt the life seep out of his body, and then he had been yanked back to the world of the living. No respite from the constant fighting, not even in death had that been granted to him._

I should have stayed in that cave _, he thought sadly._ The only woman I ever wanted to spend my life with is gone. Even the afterlife did not deliver me to her. Only cold and darkness waits for me, no matter if I am alive or dead.

_It was a lonely thought indeed._

 

+++

 

 

_**present.** _

 

Daenerys’ prediction that they would have little chance for private moments together before the wedding proved to be true. Jon barely spoke to her without others around after their dinner together. Her time was consumed by ruling. The rebuilding from the wildfire explosions were still incomplete, the Crown was desperately salvaging its economy, the Iron Bank happily knocking on its doors once more, and Dragon’s Bay was still under her purview, even if each of its cities were ruled by semi-competent councils. The most pressing concern was food shortage, which required complex trade deals to be struck. Jon was still only her betrothed at this stage, so unless the meetings specifically concerned the North, he was shut out. When they did have meals together, they were surrounded by their advisers, visiting nobility, or foreign representatives, and the conversations focused more on matters of governance and trade.

Jon spent his time corresponding with his own bannermen, placating them and staying abreast of the rebuilding efforts in the North. He wrote to Sansa every few days. He missed her. He missed his home.

The first chance he got, he left the stuffy Red Keep and headed into King’s Landing for a tour with Davos by his side. The aging knight had been given a new position as Commander of the City Watch. Jon mourned the loss of his own Hand, but was grateful nonetheless that Davos had been granted a place of honour in Daenerys council. She seemed happy enough to let Jon liaise with his former adviser, even if the City Watch was not officially under Jon’s purview.

King’s Landing was truly an ugly but magnificent place. Parts of the city exuded grandeur, from the Red Keep to the Great Sept of Baelor, which was being rebuilt at an astonishing pace in time for the wedding. Other parts lay destitute, the smell of sewage rank in the air and the walls of the buildings crumbling from years of neglect. He visited Flea Bottom with Davos and noted with dismay the rags that many children were dressed in and the dirt that lined their faces. Water was scarce and expensive, Davos explained, so most rarely got a proper bath. 

“The Queen is doing her best,” said Davos as he led Jon back out of the slums. People bowed low as Jon passed, while children climbed up carts and boxes to get a better look at their future king behind the retinue of the Queensguard. “She’s a good ruler, from what I can tell so far. Gives good orders to the City Watch and listens to our input well enough.” 

Jon was seeing that for himself. He had seen the order and efficiency in which the city was being rebuilt. It was obvious that she felt most strongly for the poorest parts of the city – the City Watch had been asked to focus their efforts on Flea Bottom and the surrounding slums. Multiple outposts had been set up throughout the neighbourhoods for maesters to administer free treatment to those who needed it. Lady Olenna had balked at the strain such services would place on the Crown’s coffers, but acquiesced eventually when Varys had argued the benefits it would have on endearing the Queen to her subjects.

_It definitely helps combat people’s perception of her as the Mad King’s daughter._

Still, Jon knew it was more than just political for Daenerys. The people of King’s Landing had already accepted her as a queen, if their effusive reception had been any indicator. She genuinely seemed to want to help the smallfolk. Jon thought of the stories of how Daenerys had crucified slave masters in Yunkai.

_She has used terrible means to help people. What does that make her?_

Jon didn’t have an answer yet. She was still an enigma to him. Their weeks together had not shed enough light on who she was as a person. He wanted to find out.

 

+++

 

 

He went to observe her holding court one day. He slipped into the Great Hall uninvited and made his way quickly to Davos’ side, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Thankfully, most people did not catch the presence of their future king and he was able to tuck himself behind a pillar on the far left of the hall. Tyrion, standing on the raised platform next to the throne, raised an eyebrow at his appearance but gave nothing away. Daenerys seemed not to have noticed him.

He had held similar sessions back in Winterfell. They could not compare in length to this one, given the sheer size of King’s Landing. Jon knew Daenerys had in here for the better part of the day already, only taking a small break for lunch before resuming the session. Although he knew she must be exhausted, she remained ever the regal queen, if a little distant and cold towards most petitioners. Whenever the poor entered the hall, though, her countenance softened immediately.

 _She enjoys talking to the poor and the helpless_. A soft smile graced her delicate features as she spoke to a young child accompanying his parents.

“She’s invested in ruling,” Jon remarked during a short intermission. “I don’t think I would have as much patience to go at it this long.”

“You’ll be up there with her soon enough,” said Tyrion, “so get used to it. Maybe you _should_ attend all these hearings.”

“I would do my duty.”

“Without complaint, I hope.”

“I can’t promise _that_.”

Tyrion snorted. “I suppose that’s too much to ask for. Well, I’ll be heading back out to wait for the queen’s return. I propose you avoid speaking to any of the people out there for now. We haven’t coached you on what to say and we can’t have you contradicting the Queen. Try not to look so pleased about it. I might just send them your way after all.”

Jon grinned and waved the Hand off. The door back into the Great Hall had just closed before he heard the regimented footsteps behind him. The Unsullied. Meaning the Queen had returned as well.

“Your Grace,” he and Davos greeted in tandem.

“My lord,” she replied. There was a small smile on her face. “You have come to join us?”

“I have been inside since after lunch. I hope you will be ending soon. You must be tired.”

They exchanged vague pleasantries for a short while, speaking about the petitioners. All the while, Daenerys looked increasingly pleased. He wondered exactly what he was saying that was putting her in a good mood.

“I will see you later, Jon Snow,” she said with a teasing smirk. “If I am not too tired, we can dine together again.”

Then with a flurry, she was gone. Jon stared after her, confused.

“She looked happy,” he commented to Davos.

“She did,” was all the man replied.

“Maybe she really likes ruling,” he said introspectively as he walked out, looking at Daenerys settling back into her seat for the last session of the day. The petitioners noticed him this time but where now cordoned off by the Unsullied. He suspected it was Tyrion’s doing.

“She’s different with the smallfolk, do you notice? Softer. She likes them. I wish she showed me half of that when we first met.”

Davos chuckled. “She breathed fire back then, didn’t she? Thought she and her dragons would burn a second sun into the sky. Now she sits on the throne all day listening to the people air grievances. It’s a nice sight.” Davos paused. “In more ways than one.”

Jon chose to ignore his last sentence. “She has a good heart.”

“I see you looking at that good heart.”

Jon rolled his eyes. This was not the first time the old man had ribbed him about the Queen. “She’s beautiful and she will be my wife. A few looks can’t hurt.”

Davos’ mouth fell open in shock. “Well, that is a _much_ more positive approach from before. I’m glad you finally got your head out of your ass.” 

“You _do_ realise I am your king, and I will be King of the Seven Kingdoms soon?” Jon said exasperatedly. “Between you and Tyrion, I feel like I’m back to being a bastard boy again.”

“Isn’t that what you insist you are? I’m just treating you as the person you want to be.”

His words were playful but they gave Jon some pause. Davos was right. Jon could put a stop to such language anytime, yet he never did. At the core of it, these conversations grounded him when everything else in his life seemed to be hurtling him towards something too great for him. It was a relief to hear someone speak to him as a _person_ and not a king. 

The hall fell abruptly silent around him. Daenerys had given the signal for the next petitioner to approach the throne.

_I shall be her husband soon. Then I shall be King of the Seven Kingdoms. No longer Jon Snow. No longer just a bastard._

The thought terrified him a little. Jon inhaled deeply. For now, he just watched her.

 

 

+++

 

  
It was sweltering in the royal blacksmith’s forge. Tyrion wondered what in the world had possessed him to follow Davos down here. Sure, it had been a pretty cold day, but that didn’t justify thrusting himself into the baking heat of the furnaces. He eyed Gendry. The lad seemed at home here. He flitted about the room, picking up red-hot metal blades and shoving them into the ovens glowing orange and red.

“You have to forgive his poor temper,” Davos was saying. They had been on the topic of the Queen and her impending marriage to Jon Snow. “The boy has been prone to his bouts of, what do you call it, melancholy. It’s been tough since the war ended and his sister died.”

Tyrion caught a glance of the grief that twisted Gendry’s features before he turned away. This time, he picked up a hammer and began to, it seemed, take his sorrow out on a poor sword.

“Some things don’t change then,” he replied with a shrug, leading the newly-minted Commander to a cooler corner of the room. “When I met him as a boy, Jon Snow was petulant, naïve, and had a hidden temper. Still, I had hoped that he would follow our Queen in mellowing out a little. The losses he has suffered has only seemed to harden him.”

“People have their own ways of coping.”

“At least they seem to be on better terms.”

“You mean they can hold a conversation without looking like they want to tear each other apart?” Davos looked amused. “Seems ‘bout right. I think their little dinner the other week was good for them. Jon’s been seeing what the Queen’s being doing for the city too. He appreciates her efforts.”

“Not such a scary, cold queen after all?” 

“She’s a good girl. Still not entirely approachable, forgive me for saying, but I think they’ll have time enough to get that part sorted out once the wedding passes.”

“One hopes. How is he in private by the way?”

“Not sure what you’re asking for there, my lord,” Davos said, looking confused. “You mean his personality?”

“I mean his thoughts. He still shares them with you, does he not?”

“If you want his thoughts, you should ask him, don’t ya think?”

“The marriage, Ser Davos. I mean the marriage. You were the one advising him through it. How did he react?” 

Davos pulled at his collar uncomfortably. “He...saw the practical benefits of it,” he replied hesitantly. “That’s why he agreed so quickly after the Great War ended. No point fighting it.”

“Beyond the practicality of it…?”

“I reckon you know the answer. He wasn’t hiding it,” said Davos with a shrug. 

“No...I think he rather offended Her Grace.”

“She was happier about the marriage.”

“It’s what she wanted…for practical purposes.” It was Tyrion’s turn to be evasive. He would not dare to speak about the affairs of his young queen’s heart to someone else, not that she had shared much about it. All he knew was that she did crave a happy marriage, even if she would not outright admit it, and that the young king had impressed her despite their testy relationship. “It’s in her interests to forge a good relationship with the man she would marry to gain the allegiance of the North and the Vale. I would think the King in the North would also put more of an effort to do the same. Even if he is giving up the North’s independence, it’s for the best, and really, you don’t want to be in an unhappy relationship with your own wife.”

“All valid points, my lord. But you’re still thinking things from a logical, practical point of view. And the heart is not so easy.”

“So make me understand,” Tyrion urged. “That is all I am seeking to do here.”

He allowed Davos to collect his thoughts, the only sound that of Gendry hammering away on the other side of the room. Tyrion was just about to offer to wait in a much cooler room when Davos finally began.

_I shall need to stew in here longer…_

“For the longest time, the only thing Jon Snow knew was to fight. Fight for the Night’s Watch. Fight for his brothers. Fight for his family. Fight for his people. Fight for his home. Then, fight for the living against the dead. There was nothing else. The crown was a way for him to win that fight. He was brought back to life for a purpose. That’s what he said. And he fought for that purpose. Then the fight ended, and, well…he’s still here.”

“So he’s lost without a purpose? This is a chance for him to do more good, and in a time of peace.”

Davos shook his head impatiently. “That’s not what I meant, what I meant is…” Frustration was apparent on the older man’s face. He appeared to change tactics. “You have to understand this from the King’s point of view. He didn’t expect to be in this situation at all.”

Tyrion raised his brows. “What? Married to the Queen?” 

“Well, married at all.”

“That’s hardly believable. Surely, even a Northern fool like Jon Snow, as he likes to call himself, knows how much of a catch he is. I don’t just mean his good looks and northern drawl. He’s a king. He would have had to marry at some point.”

“If you just let me finish,” said Davos with a roll of his eyes. “The boy knew the expectations of a king...in an, shall we say, abstract sense. He just didn’t think he would be around to go through them.”

The knight’s meaning finally dawned him. “He never expected to survive the Great War, did he?”

“It wasn’t expectation. I don’t think he _wanted_ to.”

The words hung in the air. Tyrion furrowed his brows, the revelation of just how far Jon’s melancholy might reach troubling him greatly. Davos appeared to sense this, because he continued quickly. 

“I don’t think we’re in any danger of His Grace taking his own life. It’s not _that_ kind of sickness of the mind. But the lad’s been through a lot. He died for his people. He fought endlessly for his people, his family. I think he’s just tired. I suppose, he just wanted some rest.”

“Except he lived, and now he needs to continue living,” Tyrion completed the train of thought. 

“He feels guilty too.”

The sudden interjection from Gendry gave both men a slight scare. Tyrion hadn’t even noticed the pounding had ceased. Gendry wasn’t looking at them. His gaze was still fixed on the hot metal that he held in his tongs, but he spoke to them all the same. “He came to me, the day after the battle, after...after Lady Arya,” Gendry swallowed hard, “after she died. I think he had quite a bit to drink. He was right beat up ‘bout his sister. Thinks he should have been the one to go. Thinks he failed her, since she distracted the Night King and all so he could land the killing blow.”

Taking a pause, Gendry lifted the sword and dunked it in a nearby barrel of water. Steam rose up with a harsh hiss. “He kept apologising to me, when I should have been the one to say sorry. Didn’t protect his sister.”

“There’s nothing he have done,” Tyrion said, “or you.”

“You don’t think logically in grief, do ya?” Gendry said harshly, yanking the sword up with more force than necessary, the water slushing down the sides of the barrel onto the cobbled floor. “I think he just wants to go home, spend the rest of his days with his family. He’s lost them all. If you think about it, Lady Sansa is all that he has left, no disrespect to Lord Bran.”

A heavy silence followed Gendry’s closing words.

_No...not all the family. He has one right here with him._

“Thank you for telling me this, the both of you.”

“You won’t use it to manipulate him,” Davos said sternly. Tyrion raised his hands.

“I give you my word, I am not here to take advantage of Jon. I want what is best for the both of young royals.”

Davos’ face softened at those words, a tinge of sadness colouring it. “We forget how young they are. We expect the world of them, ask them to be kings and queens, but they are the same as anyone else. They will have to learn, as will anyone else put into a new position.”

 _War claims the best of us_ , _and leaves scars on the rest._ He thought of Daenerys, burying herself in the minutiae of ruling, tending endlessly to her people. _Does it give her purpose? Or is she bottling down grief until it becomes too much?_

“Perhaps our queen came help with that.”

Davos laughed. “I’m sure the king has much to teach her too.”

“Cheers to that,” Tyrion said with a lift of an imaginary glass. Something Gendry had said earlier had come to him. His mind whirred with the beginnings of a new game plan. “Cheers to that.”

 

+++

  
  
If the wedding seemed abstract before, it crystallised when Jon was called in for his final fitting shortly before the wedding.

The head tailor fussed over him while Daenerys looked on in amusement. The numerous seamstresses littered in the changing room toiled away at their desks, putting together the final touches to the queen’s dress for the occasion. It was white, he could tell that. 

“Stop moving!” the tailor cried out when Jon fidgeted in the suit he had been shoved into.

“The material is uncomfortable,” he retorted, irritated at being treated like a child. “Must the collar be so tight?”

Daenerys was clearly having fun at his expense. Her arms were crossed loosely across her chest and her eyes raked across his form. His cheeks burned at her unabashed staring. “Fergo here is a renowned tailor from Braavos, you know. Quentyn Martell highly recommended his services.”

“I don’t see why I can’t just wear normal armour.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Daenerys uncrossed her arms and languidly strolled over. She took Fergo’s place in front of him and reached out to adjust his collar. “You must look the part of a king. This wedding is meant to inspire.”

“Armour will inspire.”

“You will look like a soldier,” she deadpanned. She brushed her hands over his shoulders, smoothening out the material. Jon wanted to squirm under the contact. She had never touched him like this before. “You will have a spaulder, how about that? Will that appease you, my lord?”

It was hard to disagree when her fingers were still touching him. “If you will just fix the collar.”

Daenerys smiled. “We will fix the collar.”

Her hands trailed down his chest briefly, a gesture which had his skin twitching uncomfortably, before she conceded her position to Fergo once more, striding over to the seamstresses instead. He quietly breathed a sigh of relief at the reinstated distance.

“Will I get to see your dress?” he asked conversationally, not sure what to say.

Daenerys shot him an amused glance over her shoulder. “You want to come to my fitting? That’s hardly proper. We aren’t even married yet.”

“I- that’s not what I meant,” Jon choked out. A few of the girls giggled, before hushing themselves quickly at his glare, though they did not bother to hide their grins. “What are you going to wear?”

“You will see at the wedding,” she replied mysteriously. Her violet eyes sparkled in the sunlight flittering down into the room from the high windows. “I can’t spoil the surprise, can I?”

She was flirting with him, he realised. Her tone was as imperious as ever, but for the first time, he detected that undercurrent of mischief. _Had she always spoken to me this way?_ Uncertain again of how to respond, he only gave her tight smile in return. That seemed to satisfy her well enough and she returned to observing him in silence. Jon felt goosebumps forming over his skin under the weight of her gaze.

_She looks at me like she might eat me alive._

In moments like these, Daenerys reminded him painfully of Ygritte. Both harsh, fiery and dominating.

 _If she were not so different otherwise, perhaps I would have loved her too,_ Jon thought. Because that was where the similarities between the two women ended. Daenerys was ambitious, exceedingly proud, and with a temper that could probably rival the heat of dragonfire. When she entered a room, she commanded attention despite her diminutive stature. The emotions she evoked seemed to swing in extremes – either people were wooed by her beauty and charisma, or they hated her entitled and brittle nature – there was no middle ground. 

Most of the North, Jon included, had fallen in the latter camp. But now, interacting with her in a much less stressful setting, he found it harder to hold onto those negative emotions. She seemed less antagonistic too. Quicker to smile, to tease. Perhaps she no longer saw him as a threat.

Whatever the reason for her change in demeanour, Jon welcomed it.

_She is a good person. I may never love her as a wife, but perhaps in time we can be good companions, like Tyrion wants us to be._

“What are you thinking of, my lord?” Daenerys asked, voice saccharine.

“You,” he responded without much thought. He realised what that sounded like too late.  

He made to clarify, but stopped short when he saw the small, happy smile that Daenerys tried and failed to hide. He swallowed hard. He did not have the heart to correct her misunderstanding.

_I am thinking about her after all. It is not a lie._

When she finally gave up and let her smile show, Jon decided some white lies could be allowed in the relationship. There was no harm in making her happy. Even if the deception left a sour taste in his mouth.

 

 

+++

 

 

Daenerys’ mood significantly improved as the days went by. She buried herself in her work, waking early for the day’s meetings and staying up late to read as much as possible on all that she needed to know. The waves of grief came to her less and less. If she was busy, she did not need to think about them at all.

At night though…

Tyrion, observant as always, had sent a maester one evening with a small vial of Essence of Nightshade. She slept better after that.

It helped that she and her husband-to-be had reached some sort of truce. He had even begun to respond more positively to her flirtations, which was unexpected but very much welcome. _We might have a happy marriage after all._

She had been also been gratified that he had come to watch her with the city’s petitioners on more than one occasion. It was obvious he wasn’t just there for appearances either. When she spoke to him about random petitioners, he kept pace with her, even if he needed a little prompting on the details. _He would be a good ruler, even if he doesn’t think so_ , she thought. His evaluation of each case was measured and fair.

It was with these happy thoughts that she decided to join him in his chambers for dinner. She had promised a private dinner a few days back, but had not had either the time or energy to make good on it. Tyrion had earlier offered to carry her request with him, citing some evening meetings he had with her betrothed to get him acquainted with his responsibilities post-marriage. She used her relatively clear afternoon to prepare for the evening together. Arolli surreptitiously placed an extra dab of perfume on her pulse point. Daenerys let her. Varys and Tyrion had warned her against sleeping with the future king before their wedding night. Even if she was not a maiden any longer, she should try to pay some face to the tradition of a marriage bedding.

_Kissing is not bedding. Neither are many other things…_

Not that the honourable Jon Snow would touch her. Still, it did not hurt to fantasise.

_If only Missandei were here. We could speak on matters of the heart._

Daenerys buried the thoughts. There was no time for tears tonight.

When she strode into his chambers, she was surprised to see that Tyrion and Jon were both sitting in the solar, two bottles of wine between them. Jon looked like a child caught red-handed with his hand down a jar of sweets, while Tyrion was calmly draining the last of the wine in his goblet.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Jon said, a deep flush creeping up his already pink neck, which lay exposed above his loose tunic. “I did not notice the passage of time. Let me, uh, just tidy myself before I join you.”

With a sheepish glance at Tyrion, he disappeared into his adjoining bedchambers, trying to surreptitiously tug the top laces of his tunic close. Her Hand deposited his goblet and made to exit the room, but she blocked his way.

“Have you been plying him with drink?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “You knew I was going to ask him to dinner, did you not?”

“Nonsense,” her Hand responded innocently, _too_ innocently. _Why this little man…_ “I simply helped him relax after a long day of exploring the city and getting to know Dothraki war customs…or something.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I just helped to loosen his tongue a little that’s all. Jon Snow is much more of a talker with some liquid courage.”

The door swung open just then to admit the servants, each carrying three to four plates of her favourite Essosi dishes. Tyrion took the opportunity to quickly bow and make his escape.

After the bottles of wine had been cleared and the table set, Daenerys took a seat to wait for Jon. She could hear some shuffling behind the closed wooden door but could not imagine why he was taking so long. One of the servants, a young boy no older than fourteen surely, awkwardly took a seat in the corner after pouring her a glass of wine. He stared steadfastly at his hands. Just when Daenerys got tired of waiting and decided to make conversation with the boy, the door to Jon’s bedchambers swung open and he quickly strode out.

“I apologise, Your Grace, I was, uh, cleaning up.” The curls surround his face looked damp, suggesting he had washed his face. His tunic was now tucked neatly under a brown, leather gambeson. She would have preferred he stayed in his tunic. “I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

“Sit, Jon Snow,” she said amiably, trying not to let her annoyance get the better of her. She was determined to continue their good streak.

Daenerys had asked for some Northern dishes to be prepared, having seen her betrothed’s apprehension at the foreign dishes laid before him at their last private supper. She studied his reaction as he took in the dishes before him. His eyes lit up at the steaming bowls of stew and roast lamb.

“This is cooked in the Northern style,” he commented after he had helped himself to a spoonful of it later.

“I thought you might appreciate it.”

He looked gratified. “Aye, I do. Please, allow me to serve you some.”

It was a rich and hearty dish, and in the chill of the winter evening, very welcoming indeed. The room was colder than her own solar. Thankfully, she had worn a fur-lined, long-sleeved dress. Too covered up for her liking but practical.

_Perhaps I should have let myself be cold...let him think of warming me up…_

She stifled a smirk at her wayward thoughts.

They exchanged pleasantries over their meal, superficial conversations about winter and Essos and the visiting bannermen. Daenerys did not mind. Her annoyance at being left to wait waned at the steady stream of conversation.

“You are in a better mood than usual today,” she remarked, sipping her wine.

“I’m not a completely mop,” he said, a light-hearted answer that was so unlike his usual self that she raised one eyebrow at him. He flushed, and continued, “and the wine helps.”

“I can see that.”

“I think your Hand did it on purpose.”

“He is a wise man.” Daenerys appraised him. “Are you drunk, my lord?”

Jon huffed out a laugh. “It was a valiant attempt from your Hand. I won’t deny the wine has not loosened my tongue,” he shook his head, “but no, I am still in charge of my own thoughts.”

“Please, share those thoughts.”

It was Jon’s turn to study her. She shivered slightly under the heavy gaze of his dark eyes. _Just the cold_ , she told herself, and held her chin a little higher. “You are a good queen.”

“You think so?”

“I walked around the city with Ser Davos the other day. The people are getting the help they need. Ser Davos says you rule with efficiency and order. The repairs are going well and trade talks seem to be proceeding smoothly.” He was rambling a little, although he did not seem to realise, and Daenerys realised the wines really did have an effect on him.

“All the work of my small council. I can’t take all the credit for that.”

The modest answer seemed to please Jon. _Of course it would_. “You joined me a few times when I held court for the city’s people. What did you think of my performance?”

Jon frowned and thought for a moment. “I would rate it above average.”

Daenerys blinked, feeling affronted, until she saw the corners of his mouth twitch. _He is teasing me_. _So plying him with sweet wines is all I need to coax this side of him out._

“Listening to lords complain was one of my least favourite aspects of ruling,” Jon said, unexpectedly continuing the conversation where she had expected it to die. “The Northern lords could go on and on about the same topic. It was maddening.”

Daenerys chuckled. “So it’s not just me that finds them unbearable? Here I thought you were mighty fond of your people.”

“They are my people, I want to protect them. Fond?” Jon grimaced. “Your Grace, like I said before. I am not blind to how prickly we northerners are.”

“A wise man once said acknowledging you have a problem is the first step to solving that problem.”

“A wise man, or Tyrion?” Jon grinned at her raised eyebrow. “He spouted the same words to me the other day.”

“So you have caught onto his game. You need to watch out for that little man.”

“You like him.”

“Which makes me watch out for him all the more.”

The smile on Jon’s face was one of the brightest she had ever seen from him. He was laughing at her words. Warmth flooded to her core and a little lower…

Jon cleared his throat, breaking her from her thoughts. She wondered whether he had sensed her thoughts although there was no indication he had. His attention returned to the food. The sparse few Northern dishes she had procured for him were wiped clean and all that were left were Meereenish cuisine. She noticed his peculiar expression each time he took a bite of a new dish.

“You did not answer me the last time. Is the food not to your liking?”

“It tastes…different.” His nose scrunched up. “Did you bring your own cooks?”

“Not entirely. There are some from Meereen who travelled with me. I have asked for certain dishes to be prepared. This one-” she pointed to a reddish curry on her side of the table which he had not touched yet, “-is one of my favourites. Try it.”

She stifled a giggle at the doubtful look he gave her, before dipping a spoon in the proffered dish. He raised the spoon to his mouth and ever so hesitantly sipped at the curry.

“How do you find it, my lord?”

“It’s…different.”

Daenerys burst out laughing at his abject failure to find any compliment. “You always did have a way with words.”

“I’m glad I please you,” he said slowly with a rueful half-grin. “I don’t remember if I’ve made you laugh before.”

“We are no longer at our wit’s end fighting an army of the dead,” she said with a shrug, “and I do not wish to continue on the way we had, if we are to be married.”

It _was_ easier to react with mischief rather than anger now. _Is it because I no longer see him as a threat? Am I simply worn down? Have I lost too much to hold onto the bad? Do I look for comfort in anything I can take?_

The atmosphere grew uncomfortable in her silence. Jon seemed lost in his own thoughts as well.

A knock on the door saved both of them the trouble of restarting the conversation.

“Your Grace, I apologise for the intrusion.” The servant bowed low. “His Gra- I mean, I, erm, I came to deliver this letter.” Daenerys waved away the lapse in protocol and the servant gratefully scurried back out of the room after handing the scroll to Jon.

He broke the seal and quickly scanned the contents of the letter. A soft smile spread across his lips and his eyes shone bright in the firelight.

“What’s that?” she enquired, curious to know what had brought on such a tender smile.

“Sansa is on her way here.” Jon replied, re-reading the letter. “She must have sent this some days ago. If my calculations are correct, she will be arriving in within the next two days.”

“That is good,” Daenerys said noncommittally. Jon did not make any effort to continue the conversation and instead continued to stare at the letter with that frustratingly tender expression. A familiar tug of jealousy pulled at her. _Viserys once smiled at me sweetly too. Will Jon ever see me as family? Will he smile at my letters one day too?_

Her heavy thoughts weighed down on her good mood. It was always like this. The darkness sapped at her energy.

A short scroll. That was all it had taken. From a cousin he would always consider more family than she could ever be. Daenerys felt alone, neglected. She wanted Missandei. Jorah.

When she opened her mouth to speak, to break the silence, nothing came.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step forward, two steps back lmao 
> 
> Also, these chapters are getting really long. This was initially meant to be combined with the fourth chapter, but I had to split them up because there was just too many things I wanted to explore. Outlines lie.
> 
> As always, if you see any errors, please point them out to me so I can fix them. Thanks so much and have a lovely weekend ahead.


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